


The Post-Apocalyptic Guide to Raising a Hero

by somethingofatrainwreck



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: "we're together but we will never admit it" trope, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, Mild Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy, unconventional parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingofatrainwreck/pseuds/somethingofatrainwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not intentional - this child of theirs that everyone thinks will grow up to save the world- but he changes everything. He's living breathing proof of those feelings they only deal with in the dark. He's that little bit of light guiding them forward- away from the storm clouds, away from the smoke.</p><p>He's hope- and he's theirs. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Or, How to be Perpetual F**k-ups but Still Leave a Hell of a Legacy </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: An Intro – for the before, the during, and all those moments when you wonder – what the hell have I done?

**Author's Note:**

> This is so very long, but that's always been a bad habit of mine.....

_Part 1: An Intro – for the before, the during, and all those moments when you wonder – what the hell have I done?_

Clarke sits with her back to the fires. The sky is doing that thing where it’s divided into different hues of pink and orange, like a ladder that connects the mountains with the blue of the sky as the sun set drives them apart. It’s the kind of thing Clarke knows she’d never be able to do with a paintbrush, but she wishes she had a life that would give her time to try. 

Instead, she sits and glances at it out of the corner of her eye as she looks down at the messy ledger medical had prepared. It’s done on yellowed paper with ink made of rotten berries and she’s an idiot to try to read it in such low light, but she can’t stop running numbers in her head and if she goes into her tent to try to do it by candle light she’ll probably end up with a bigger headache than she already has. 

She’s used to drowning out the sounds of the camp- village- whatever the fuck they are now that they’ve gotten a chance to take a breath and start laying roots down. She’s an outsider pretty much across the board. The Arkers look at her like she’s dangerous, her people- and Kane has told her repeatedly that she shouldn’t call them her people because _we’re all you’re people_ \- the survivors of the 100 may not actually look at her any differently. That misalignment is probably more on her part than theirs.

She’s been back for a little over a year now. The air has stopped smelling like smoke. People really don’t even talk about Mount Weather anymore – but she knows they’re thinking about it, that they know what happened. People look at Bellamy like he’s a hero, and after everything he did when she was away – he probably is. 

She’s something else. Something like a hero and martyr and a murderer and a coward and a leader and a monster.

There’s not really a word for that.

She half expected everything to be different when she came back. She didn’t want the responsibility anymore. She told Bellamy that, even as he glared at her and told her she didn’t have fucking choice. She figures she came pretty close to having him hate her, but after a few months of subtle dirty looks and passive aggressive comments about whether she’d be “sticking around” - and one massive argument where they both said absolutely inhumane things to each other – he seemed to have gotten it all out of his system. 

“I need you here. I want you here.” he had said. “ I understand why you left. You understand why I’m frustrated. Let’s just leave it at that.”

It seemed insincere at the time, since he was pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut to avoid looking at her, but she believes him now- that he needs her there, that he wants her there. He calls her his conscience sometimes, which she thinks is ridiculous considering the amount of blood on her hands, but she finds that usually she doesn’t actually have to say anything to him. For some reason her standing there looking at him gives him whatever direction he needs to make the right decision. She doesn’t exactly get it and he fucking sucks at explaining it to her, so she just accepts it for what it is: he thinks he needs her and she feels better about being a “leader” when he’s standing next to her to take some of the weight. They work well together. People listen to what they have to say when they say it together. Alone, Clarke is kind of crazy, Bellamy is sort of dramatic, but Clarke and Bellamy, _together_ , are effective. 

She definitely doesn’t have the time to try to make any sense out of that. 

This particular night caps off a truly horrible day. Clarke’s back is tense, her head feels like it’s about to split in half, and there’s a bee sting on her left wrist that’s taking it’s sweet fucking time to heal. 

She’s just not in the mood. Not in the mood to eat dinner, to talk to her mother, to apologize to those few people she should probably apologize too, _to exist ….._

She’s certainly not in the mood for Bellamy Blake, but that doesn’t stop him from plopping down on the ground next to her. He doesn’t say anything- and judging by the half smirk on his face he’s pretty content. 

She’s not sure which is more annoying.

“Didn’t you have plans tonight?” she mumbles, pretending to read over the ledger even though it’s near impossible in the half darkness. He did have plans, with the girl from factory station, the one that calls him _Bell_ and brings him lunch sometimes. 

He just shrugs. “Didn’t get to talk to you today.” He looks at her like that means something.

“Uneventful day.” She offers as an explanation she knows he won’t accept. 

“Don’t give me that shit.” He crosses his arms. “I heard about your meltdown in medical.”

Her fingers twitch, nearly ripping the fragile paper.

“Don't start,” she says- not nearly as harsh a she means it, “It wasn’t a meltdown.”

“Told a lot of important people to go to hell.”

_Important_ people. She almost laughs at that- at the way he’s talking to her like it’s a conversation that’s going be recorded and played at a council meeting. “What are they gonna do? Banish me?” She tosses the ledger to the ground between her feet and extends her arms behind her so she can lean back. 

He looks her over for a minute- factoring in whatever it is he factors in for his well- practiced and award-worthy formula to figure her the fuck out. “I’m on your side. You know that,” he says, nudging her foot with his. “Clarke?”

He wants her to look at him, but she’s not going to. She’s not going to let him chastise her like a child. 

“I don’t need you to patronize me.” she snaps. “I over reacted- I’m aware.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he starts to grin at her. She notices when she looks at him with the same side eyes she was giving the sunset.

“Stop smiling at me.”

He raises his eyebrows.”I don't smile."

She’s not going to smile back at him. She’s not. “Bellamy, I’m serious.”

“What did Councilman Arthur’s face looked like when you told him he was a dick.”

She rolls her eyes, “I didn’t call him a dick. I told him he was a condescending, narrow minded elitist.”

She finally looks over at him and notices that he has a tin cup in his hands- probably why he finds everything so fucking funny all of the sudden.

“Celebrating something?” she asks, nodding her head to his cup. 

“Doing Monty a favor," he explains. “Testing the batch so it doesn’t kill anyone.” He takes a drink and cringes, “tastes like it might.”

The cringe probably has more to do with the fact that he doesn’t drink all that often. 

Finally she laughs, but it’s only because he seems to think that he’s actually fooling her. She reaches over and takes the cup from him – takes a drink herself. It’s quiet for a moment. She’s giving him the chance to break it first, to change the subject. He doesn’t take it. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

His face sort of hardens and he sits up a little. “O's leaving,” he says.

She’s a little surprised that it’s not about the camp – he usually keeps his personal issues close to the vest - but she can tell that he’s almost as tense as she is. The fact that Octavia is full grown and probably more terrifying than either of them combined doesn’t make it any easier for him to live in that constant state of worry he exists in when he knows he won’t be hearing from her for a few months. 

“Business or pleasure?” Clarke asks through another mouthful of bitter moonshine. 

“Fuck if I know,” he says. “She doesn’t exactly explain things to me.”

“Well not when you jump down her throat and start berating her.”

“I didn’t berate her.” he says- looking at her with serious eyes.

She nods, “When is she leaving?”

He reaches for the cup and drains it. “End of the week," he barely says.

She thinks for a few seconds and then turns to face him with a smirk, “There's no way you didn't berate her. I’ll bet you that pocket knife that she’ll come to you before she leaves and tell you everything she knows about the trip.”

He shoots her a quick glare for pretty much calling him a liar, but it melts into a snort as he fiddles to find the knife in his pocket.

“What is it with you and this knife?” he asks with an exasperated laugh. “Clarke, you're not getting it.”

She doesn’t know why she wants it so badly. Maybe it’s because her father’s watch is long gone and she doesn’t really have anything that’s hers anymore- something that can serve as a sort of talisman for her. Bellamy found that thing in the woods during their big autumn hunt- says it was buried in a collapsed pile of wood that he thinks people used to hide in to hunt deer. It’s half rusted and the blade sticks. It’s worthless but she never sees him without it. She doesn’t have an answer. So she leans forward to grab the ledger from the ground and roll it back up to be stored away with all their other pathetic excuses for official documents. Finally she looks back at him- examining the knife in his lap like he’s missing something. 

“It’s not like you have anything more valuable to lose to me,” she says. “It’s a metaphoric sort of thing.”

“Are you saying that this is some kind of……symbol for my manhood?” He snaps the small knife open and she can’t help but laugh. He laughs too- in a relaxed kind of way that makes her relax a little bit herself.

“Speaking of your manhood," she says with as straight of a face as she can manage when he turns and waggles his eyebrows at her – truthfully she didn’t even know he could do that, “Didn’t you have some big date tonight?”

He glances up at the sky like it’s a clock. “I had somewhere to be yeah,” he says. “She’ll get over it.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

He smirks, “Then she doesn’t.”

He settles back like he doesn’t plan on going anywhere – like he doesn’t expect her to go anywhere. It gets pretty quiet. She waits until the sun has totally disappeared before reaching over to lay her hand across his.

“Octavia is going to be fine.” She says.

He gives her a grateful nod – like he just needed to hear it out loud – and squeezes her fingers.

**...**

It wasn’t _like that_ with Clarke and Bellamy- at least at the beginning.

She was the one thing that he absolutely never understood about himself, because exactly what she was to him was never clear. He just knew that it wasn’t _like that_.

Sure, he could admit that he had an uncontrollable instinct to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, but Clarke had proven one thousand times over that she didn’t need protection, that she could handle herself.

He knew that better than anyone but he couldn’t help it.

With Octavia it’s a straight forward feeling, she’s his sister, she’s his life, it’s second nature, like breathing. With Clarke it’s an impulse, like a goddamn gag reflex. Since day one, since the days where he was arrogant enough to believe that he’d be better off if she was dead.

He’s there when the earth falls out from under her- gripping her arm with every ounce of strength that he has. He’s there to look for answers when blood clouds her eyes. He’s there in the tree line, his rifle aimed at every threat that steps in front of her. He’s there to pull the knife from her hand when it gets a little too heavy. He’s there to call her name, to draw her attention back to the road ahead when she’s watching ghosts through the trees. More than anything he’s there to share the burden. He’s there so neither of them collapse under the weight of keeping the sky from crashing down to the earth.

And then one day, he can’t be there anymore because he has no idea where “there” is.

He watched her walk away, so exhausted and dehydrated and done with everything that he didn’t even realize at the time that her goodbye could lead to a permanent kind of gone. 

From there it’s a struggle within himself- sort of like a migraine that won’t go away because he can’t totally focus on anything and he keeps gagging on the smell of smoke and death in the air, but no one understands. They all deal with Clarke being gone in their own ways. His real problem is that he doesn’t deal with her being gone at all. 

Somedays he convinces himself that she abandoned them, that she’s not around because she couldn’t handle it, that she was the coward that she never let him become. And he laughs when her voice echoes in his head _I need you_ and _I can’t lose you too_ like a mismatched drum beat because none of that ever mattered and she might as well not exist anymore. He vows not to think about her and spends the rest of the night thinking about not thinking about her and as long as that drum in his head keeps beating she’s not really gone, she’s just hiding.

But usually the next day he realizes that that’s stupid and Clarke is Clarke and that means more than he could ever put into words. She’ll come back to them, but she’ll do it in her own time. She’d sold her fucking soul to save them, gave up every peaceful night’s sleep she’d ever enjoy for the rest of her life so their people would live. She’s half of who she once was, and she was so strong for so long so she deserves this time- it’s just time. She’s not really gone, she’s just around the corner and it’s for the best really. And on those days he doesn’t try to not think about her- but to think about other things, the drum is more like a whisper and it reassures him that she’ll be back because he needs her and he can’t lose her too.

For four months he’s on his own- he tries to fix things on his own, tries to coexist with the Arkers on his own, tries to drag his people back to the brink of normalcy on his own. They stop asking about Clarke and Bellamy figures that that means he really is on his own. He tries. He tries to lean on Octavia- but her life is going in another direction and holding her back is becoming exhausting. He tries to rely on Miller and Monty and Monroe and Jasper but they look at him like he should always have the answers and he starts to run out of ways to say _I don’t fucking know what to do_. He tries to fall in love, tries a couple of times , but eventually it feels forced-like he’s trying to remember how heroes fell in love in those stories he used to read to Octavia and he starts to wonder if he’s even the type that could love in that way. The love he had for his sister led him to do horrible things, he couldn’t allow himself to become that monster again. Not when Clarke wasn’t there – not when he was on his own.

And then – in a blur of war – she’s back again. When he sees her for the first time he’s so caught off guard by the feeling of relief soaking through his chest that he must shoot her one hell of a disgusted look because she avoids his eyes until its absolutely necessary. They work together the way they always do, the two halves of a whole that keep the world from igniting and collapsing in on itself, at least that’s the way it feels.

When things get back to a fragile state of normalcy he spends a few months being half-pissed at her – but he soon realizes that it’s pointless to waste time like that when they have so much more to build. 

Their truce flounders a bit at the beginning, but eventually the roots of trust take hold into them again, their partnership grows into something much more unshakable – something like true friendship, maybe comradery- O calls it “kindred spirits” he’s not sure where she came up with that.

Eventually they start to build something permanent. They achieve a certain degree of normalcy. Days become “just another day.” Sometimes people forget to be afraid. They learn a lot, about crops, about how to raise domestic animals, how to build shelters that can withstand winters. Clarke has to make a few more tough decisions and Bellamy has to take a few more lives, but Kane and Abby and their council stop looking at them like they’re dangerous teenagers.

Bellamy tries his damnedest to protect Clarke- and not just from bullets and fire and war but from every kind of pain imaginable. In return Clarke becomes the pillar he can lean on when it feels like too much. They see each other at their weakest and strongest. 

Learning each other so well puts a bit more pressure on them as a team. On those horrible occasions when they’re blinded by anger they both know exactly what to say to devastate the other, and afterwards- when the last thing one of them wants to see is the other’s face- it’s incredibly difficult to find somewhere to hide. And it goes the other way too- they develop a bad habit of crossing those carefully drawn platonic boundaries, because Bellamy can have sex with as many women as he wants but he can’t ever find comfort in another human being the way he can Clarke and Clarke can try to keep people at arm’s length but on those occasions when she needs arms around her- his are the only ones that she actively seeks out.

So there are days when it is _like that_ \- even for just a few moments.

He looks for her sometimes, without even really thinking about it. After he returns from chaperoning the group refilling the water jugs, he walks around camp until he spots her. On the night he realizes that things are probably a little bit too comfortable between them, he finds her washing one of her shirts in a leaky wooden bucket filled with water that looks about as dirty as water can look. She’s wearing the only tank top she owns. It’s fraying along the straps – he knows because lazily pulling spare threads from the fabric has become a bit of a habit of his when things are _like that_. 

Her hair is tied up into a knotty ponytail, her overgrown bangs hanging in her eyes. He can see sunburn on her shoulders, sweat along her brow. She glances up at him when he approaches but doesn’t do much to greet him.

He sets the butt of his gun on the ground and leans against it, watching her scrub the shirt with an intentionally smug expression.

Finally she lets out a sigh and relaxes her shoulders, letting the shirt float in the water and reaching for the water skin lying on the ground next to her.

“Stop looking at me like that," she says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

He smirks even wider. “Like what?” 

She snorts and takes another long drink, rolling her eyes when he continues to stare at her. “Like you’ve- you know.”

It’s either sunburn or blush – either way he can’t really resist. 

“Fucked you?”

“Oh my God- just-“ she shakes her head and shoots to her feet, looking around to make sure no one could have heard him. “you’re repulsive.”

“Sit down,” he laughs. “I was kidding, Christ.”

She watches him with suspicious eyes as he approaches her, sitting down on an old crate as she plops back down onto the wet ground. “I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”  
She mumbles as she goes back to scrubbing her shirt.

“We did-after the first time,“ he raises his eyebrows, “ then it happened again.“

“So? That doesn't mean we need to discuss it in casual conversation.”

He nods in that patronizing way of his and smirks. “Right, we can't talk about it, but we can keep doing it,” he says

She shakes her head and readjusts her legs- obviously not picking up on the fact that he’s kidding, because he's certainly not going to complain about that arrangement. “It’s not a big deal,” she says. “You get me, I get you. It’s cut and dry and simple.”

It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Truthfully, they’d both been sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop since the first time. It was probably these conversations that kept things from being awkward. The sex was great and all – fantastic, if Bellamy was being honest with himself, but their dynamic was what was important. They had people relying on them. They represented the interests of a group whose voice would probably be silenced otherwise. The Arkers weren’t exactly the most tolerant of people, it didn’t take long for them to remember that the 100 were “criminals.” They would probably still be treated like outcasts if it weren’t for Clarke and Bellamy’s absolute resilience. So in the end, it was their working relationship that needed to be protected at all costs, then their friendship, and then the sex – as an afterthought, a very potent afterthought. 

He can’t help but watch her though, the muscles in her arms, her chest and shoulders still pretty tanned from the dwindling summer. She concentrates on her washing, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes Bellamy adjust himself on the crate a bit. 

It’s been a while. He can admit that. He could probably just go to one of the fires tonight and find someone with similar…..frustrations but he hasn’t had much interest in that kind of pursuit lately, and maybe there’s a part of him that feels like sex with anyone else would be kind of mediocre compared to what goes on between he and Clarke but it’s definitely not a thought he pays much attention too. 

“What happened?” he asks with a nod to the shirt, after the tension she had been ignoring starts to feel like its suffocating him.

She pales a bit and pulls her hands out of the water to wipe them on her pants. “Mrs. Blanchet,” she says. “Monroe and I …carried her to medical.”

Bellamy didn’t want to ask, he was pretty sure he already knew the answer judging by the look on Clarke’s face, but Mrs. Blanchet had been doing so well. Clarke had literally just been telling him how optimistic her mother was about the pregnancy.

“The baby?” he asks.

Clarke just shakes her head and gets back to scrubbing. “And it doesn’t matter how hard I scrub, blood never seems to come off.”

Her motions are frantic now, water slushes out onto the ground. He sees her forearms clench, like she’s trying to rip the shirt in half, so he sinks down to his knees beside her.

“Take it easy.” He pulls her hands out of the water and she stares down at them. 

“How was your day?” she asks – in a half sarcastic kind of way that begs him to change the subject. 

“Saw a little deer,” he says. “A baby.”

“A fawn?.” She says.

“Sure.”

“Two heads?” she asks. She’s started to wind her fingers in his – like she’s drawing comfort through their conjoined hands, he tries not to stare.

“No- but there was definitely something weird about its ears. We should probably start recording this stuff- it’s like herds from different areas of the forest have different deformities.”

“Did you shoot it?”

He looks up at her and shakes his head, “Scared it off.”

“We need to start storing meat.”

“I’m aware.”

She probably would have shot it, she would have been able to put the needs of the group before her own guilt for killing something so innocent. Clarke had always been able to do that. He looks at her with envy for making those kinds of sacrifices, she looks at him the same way for choosing not to. 

“I get it,” she says- when he starts looking a little too defensive. “You’re a good man Bellamy.”

She’s avoiding his gaze, staring at the water like it may attack her if she looks away. “Doing alright?” he asks.

She nods almost immediately, her fingers still gripping his. “Just a long day.”

“Why don’t you hang that up ang get some rest, sun will be setting soon. We should be up early tomorrow if we want to start planning out that fucking root cellar. Kane keeps looking at me like I’m crazy when I mention it so I’m pretty sure we’re on our own with that one.”

She lets out a small laugh, “If anyone can figure it out its Monty.”

He stands up and tries to pull her up with him. She stays seated, extending her arm to keep hold of his. “I'm not ready to sleep," she says.

“Don’t do this Clarke.”

“Do what?” she glares up at him.

“Don’t take on anymore guilt for something you can’t control. Sometimes blood is just blood. It’s not all on your hands. This is our life, you know that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Just come with me alright, we don’t have to sleep.”

She glances up at him and raises her eyebrows. 

“I didn’t meant it _like that_ ," he says. 

“No, I know,” she says, closing her eyes like she doesn’t want to see his reaction. “But I…sort of…meant it _like that_.”

The way his face breaks out into an uncontrollably genuine smile would probably be embarrassing if he could focus on anything other than pulling her to her feet so she’s as close to him as possible.

“Say please.” He mumbles just to make her laugh when she leans her forehead against his chest. She exhales, and shakes her head, and tries to elbow him in the gut – but God, she’s smiling and he can see the devastation start to fade from her eyes and when it’s like this, when he knows he has the ability to make her let go of all of the terrible things even for a few minutes , he doesn’t worry so much about what this means for them.

Really it’s just another way to survive.

**...**

Clarke likes the fact that there’s a part of Raven that will never truly forgive her for Finn’s death. Somehow knowing that makes her feel more like a true friend because she knows Raven will be the first one to call her out when she makes a mistake. When Raven looks at her and tells her “it’s not your fault” she believes it, because she’s seen the look in Raven’s eyes when it has been her fault. She’s invaluable to Clarke and she knows that – which is why she doesn’t really hesitate to say whatever the hell crosses her mind.

They’re sitting on the hill at the south end of camp – where you can just make out the sunset over the gate. There are some kids running through the grasses, chasing each other and laughing. Raven looks at them a few times before turning to Clarke, eating a berry from the bag they’d been sharing, and cracking a maniacal grin.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she says, “how long have you been fucking Bellamy?”

Clarke’s muscles all tense up. The blood rushes to her cheeks and her fingers twist into fists. She grips the grass, trying to keep her gaze locked on the horizon so she can play this off without Raven seeing the deception in her eyes. “I’m not," she says simply. “He and I are friends, we work together and-“

“Yeah, yeah I’m not accusing you of being in love with the guy,” she says, “but look at me and tell me you haven’t been sleeping with him.”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and turns to face her friend. There’s no point in lying, she’s not sure how Raven has figured it out, but she wouldn’t be bringing it up if she wasn’t sure. “It’s not a big deal,” she says. “It’s just something that….helps sometimes.”

Raven laughs a little and nods. “You don’t have to tell me, been there done that remember?”

She does. Raven had told her about that day with Bellamy, when she used him to try to make herself feel better. 

“It’s not like that,” Clarke says quickly, because she doesn’t want to feel like she’s using Bellamy. 

“Then what is it like?”

“It’s like there’s no other person in this camp that understands," she says, “and sometimes it’s just….nice not to have to explain things to someone. It’s easy. No one is going to get hurt and it’s….”

She blushes and Raven definitely notices, “It’s what?”

“It’s good,” Clarke says – an understatement if she’s ever heard one.

Raven is laughing now, and Clarke doesn’t really mind because Raven doesn’t laugh all that often.

“How did you even know about it?” Clarke asks.

“Bellamy.” Raven says with a wave of her hand. “Have you seen his face recently? He couldn’t be more obvious, walking around smiling he might as well be singing about-“

“Raven,” Clarke holds up her hand and almost laughs “don’t try to tell me that Bellamy is in love with me okay? That’s not how it works.”

Raven raises her eyebrows. “Clarke that is exactly how it works, come on – don’t laugh like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Clarke continues to laugh and Raven starts to look a little annoyed. 

“Look- I’m just saying he looks at you sometimes.”

Clarke widens her eyes in mock- astonishment, “Oh my god, and he _talks_ to me sometimes too.”

“You don’t see it, but its-“ she fiddles with the water skin laying at her feet, “it’s one hell of a look.”

Clarke’s smile starts to fade because this doesn’t seem like so much of a joke anymore. “Yeah well he’s an intense guy.”

“He’s an intense guy that loves you - maybe I don’t know how he loves you, but he does. He and I are friends too you know, I know him pretty well. He needs you and you can sit here and try to tell me that it’s nothing more than sex but….I think you’re underestimating how important you are to him.”

For some reason she feels defensive, “He’s just as important to me.” she says.

Raven nods and holds her hands up, “Okay, I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t all I’m saying is –“ she takes a deep breath. “Everyone has always sort of joked about the sexual tension between you guys and sure it’s not all that surprising that you’re – doing what you’re doing- but I don’t think it’s possible for anything that goes on between you two to be just sex.” She says. “there’s too many emotions there Clarke you’re too attached to each other. It’s going to lead to something more and if you two try to ignore that then the universe is going to drag you there kicking and screaming.”

Clarke is looking away, playing with the grass, and pretending like all these thoughts had never crossed her mind.

“You’re playing with fire. You’ve seen what Bellamy has done for his sister, for us, for you. When he loves something he really loves it.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Clarke asks. “You think I should stop?”

“I’m not trying to tell you to do anything. I just want you to realize that something like this can only go in one of two directions- disaster or something….more permanent.”

 

**...**

Clarke realizes she’s pregnant as she’s crouching down behind a tree and losing her lunch for the third day in a row. 

Monty is with her, he’s showing her a patch of grass not far from the river that he hoped had fertile soil for a new medicinal herb garden.

 

“You good?” he asks- shielding his eyes.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and nods.

“Fine.” 

But she isn’t, because she _knows_ and she spends the walk back to camp counting backwards in her head- trying to remember how many days were in the month of March. She forgets to specifically ask Monty to keep the incident to himself, so she isn’t all that surprised when Bellamy catches her after dinner and sweeps his eyes up and down her form like he’s taking inventory. 

“This is the third day you’ve been sick," he says as he shifts to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. “You need to spend some time in medical tomorrow…”

Clarke doesn’t even look at him. It’s immature, and she knows she’ll catch hell for it when he finally catches up with her, but without so much as a word she walks away from him – hiding in Wick’s lab until she’s sure he’s probably on duty and then sneaking to her tent.

Of course he’s not on duty – Bellamy knew Clarke. He knew her in just about every way there is to know a person. She could be petty and childish, but only when she was hiding something. So he stalks out her tent, and when she comes sneaking in he follows after her, plopping himself down with his back against the trunk at the foot of her bed. He crosses his arms and waits for her to start talking. She doesn’t.

“You ready to talk to me?” he finally asks, when she sits on her camp-bed and starts unlacing her boots.

“About what?”

He looks at her like she’s an idiot. “You got sick again this morning.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Clarke you need to go to medical-“

“I don’t actually.” She snaps. “I know what’s wrong.”

He turns and faces her – a challenging look in his eye, like the next words out of his mouth are going to accuse her of being a know-it-all. “Yeah?”

“You don’t want to know,” she says solemnly, “Trust me.”

“No _trust me_ ,” he says as he rises to his knees to be at eye level with her “talk to me.”

She falters for a second – breaking eye contact in a way that makes him suspect she’s about to try to lie to him. “I’m not sick.”

He snorts, “Oh no obviously not.”

“I’m not.” she says.

He watches her and waits – he can be patient when he wants to be. It’s a skill he’s learned from hunting over the years- sometimes getting Clarke to speak her mind is more painstaking than crouching in a bush waiting for a passing herd of deer.

“Do you remember those days – right at the beginning when we,” she twists her hands together, “with Lincoln?”

She doesn’t elaborate, but he knows what she’s talking about so he nods at her.

“What that felt like,” she says. “He was just one man, one person, but his life felt like the whole universe. You know? Like the fate of the world was in our hands- and obviously that’s ridiculous but it was suffocating – terrifying.”

He finally settles down in the spot next to her – close enough to give nonverbal support without getting too close. They listen to the wind blowing against the tent for a few minutes. When she looks over at him – there are tears in her eyes.

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

He does, but for some reason he feels like she needs to say it. “Remind me.”

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things.”

He nods, but she looks away from him. “It’s not true,” she says. “Not with us, not anymore. We’ll never be those people again Bellamy, because it’s always going to come down to surviving. Everything we’ve done, everything we’re going to have to do. We gave up who we were when we decided to live our lives protecting these people.”

“Clarke,”

“When I left – it wasn’t just because I was ashamed. It wasn’t just the guilt. It was fear, because I knew then that I had lost myself for their sake. I was afraid. That kind of responsibility is horrifying. I didn’t want it.”

“You came back,” he says. 

“But I’m still afraid.”

He tries to lay his hand on her shoulder but she pulls away. “Don’t – this isn’t something you can fix.”

And it’s full circle, back to the beginning. “Clarke, what the hell-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” She says.

There haven’t been too many moments when Bellamy Blake has actually been speechless – he’s usually pretty good at adapting quickly , but this time…..the breath catches in his throat. All he can do is try not to react. 

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while,” she continues. “But I thought – with the implant – it should have been impossible. Getting sick - I mean, it could be something else but,” she takes a deep breath, “I’m pretty sure.”

He still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really know what to say. His feet are numb, his hands sort of shaking, the panic is running through his veins right under his skin, but he ignores it – focuses on breathing and listening to her struggle not to cry.

Goddamn, he thought she was going to tell him she had some kind of flu – or a virus- maybe a bad case of exhaustion because she’s terrible at giving herself a moment of peace.

“You can freak out," she says. “I was expecting it.”

He opens his mouth a few times – choking back his reflexive responses. “Freaking out won't change anything. You seem to be doing it enough for the both of us.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I- Clarke I’m – “

“Why do you look like you’re about to say that you’re sorry-“

“Because you’re afraid," he says. “And I'm half responsible?”

“Is that your way of asking if it’s yours?” 

“Would you be having this conversation with me right now if it wasn’t?”

“Yes,” she says. “Because no one else would – because I wouldn’t want anyone else to know.”

“Clarke-“

“It is yours. I mean I haven’t been with anyone but you in – a long time.”

He thinks about her, and the way it is when they’re together. The way she looks at him and responds to him and she probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it but he’s sure she’s never looked at anyone else that way. “I know.”

“So why aren’t you freaking out?”

He is, but he can hold it in for her. He can be strong while she collapses, at least until they figure this out, until he can actually process the fact that she’s telling him that he’s a father. All he can really focus on now is how pale she looks.

“I mean this shouldn’t have happened. Not with the implant, not when so many healthy women here can’t seem to conceive even when they’re trying. It should have been impossible. How…how can this….how?”

He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his chest, she keeps mumbling “how” against his throat. 

“You haven’t told anyone else?”

She shakes her head.

“You need to see your mother.”

She tries to pull away from him but he holds her in place, “Clarke she’s your mother, and we need to know for sure if you’re….if you are and if – if it’s true than you need to get checked out.” He tilts her face up to look at his, “Use your head,” he says , “you know the risks, I don’t want anything to happen to you or the- or – you know just because you’re being stubborn.”

Her eyes are squeezed shut, she shakes her head and he feels a familiar burst of frustration.

“This isn’t going away," he says. “I’m sure you’re terrified and horrified and fine, okay you didn’t exactly plan this….”

“Didn’t plan it?” her eyes shoot open and her voice sounds sort of hysterical “this was never supposed to happen to me. I never wanted this.”

“That’s a lie and you and I both know it," he says, because he has seen the way she looks at the infants in camp, the mothers who were able to bring something into this world rather than take things away. “You don’t want to talk about it right now? That’s fine , but you’re a grown woman Clarke you can’t be acting like a pissed off teenager anymore. You need to go to your mother and make sure that it’s….that you’re really….”

“Pregnant,” she snaps, when he can’t really seem to say the word.

It still sort of feels like something that’s happening to _her_ and not _them_ , but when he tries to pull her closer his fingers brush against her stomach and it almost feels like a shock goes through him. If she’s pregnant, it’s his child. A child that is half his and half Clarkes- a real living person, actual evidence of those things they seem to only allow themselves to feel in the dark. He could be a father. He could have a family- right here in his arms, and sure Clarke was already his family in so many ways but out of all the things they’ve been able to do together – this ….. a baby ….maybe they'd finally get something right. 

“Bellamy,” he snaps out of his thoughts and looks down at her. She’s glaring. “Are you smiling?”

He shakes his head and forces a frown, but it’s too late. She’s looking at him like he’s betrayed her.

“This isn’t funny.” She says.

“I'm aware.”

She grips his arms and stares at him, speaking slowly. “I can’t be a mother.”

“You can,” he says, “if you want to be…”

“No,” she says, “no I will never ….I will never explain to a child that their mother killed …all of those people.”

She’s starting to slip away now, into that dark place he’s only seen her in a few times. He grips her hands.

“To save…”

“Stop, stop saying that.” She pushes away from him – he’s starting to worry that someone may hear her. “Stop telling me that I did the right thing, that I saved everyone. I didn’t do it just once Bellamy- I….I’ve had blood on my hands for years!”

They’ve talked about this. So many times they’ve talked about this. “You’re a leader,” he says confidently.

“No one asked me if I wanted to be a leader.”

“They didn’t have a chance to,” he yells, “it wasn’t exactly up for grabs Clarke, you walked out of that fucking drop ship and you took it! I would know!”

She looks at him- and he can tell she wants to find comfort in him, to let him hug her and tell her it’s all going to work out but Clarke doesn’t work like that, she doesn’t allow herself to work like that. So she takes another step back and gives him a serious look. “I can’t.” she says.

He’s not going to ask her what she’s suggesting. He doesn’t really want to hear it out loud and whatever battle she’s fighting right now isn’t with him. So he takes a breath and tries to treat this like every other time- tries to say the things she would say to him to coax him out of the dark. “You were past all this. We’ve moved on Clarke- we did what we had to do and-“

“And what now? What’s our legacy?”

His eyes fall to her stomach and for a moment he thinks she may be right. If there’s a child there – one day that child will hear about all the things they’ve done, the horrible people they had to be sometimes. Him especially- a failed assassin who strung kids up from trees for kissing his sister, responsible for so many deaths because of his own fear…..he has to stop himself, to shake his head and stay focused. One of them has to keep their heads.

“We survived” he says, “and because of us there will be another generation of our people. We’re bringing the Earth back to life.”

She glares at him. “The Earth was alive before we got here.”

“Clarke,” he says, just wanting this conversation to be over so he can go into the woods by himself and scream and maybe break a few things until he can get a firm grasp on the two million emotions speeding back and forth in his mind. “If you really, honestly don’t want this baby we’ll ….we can talk about it but don’t do something that will only make you hate yourself more. Go to your mother – talk to her – give it some time….”

She looks at him for a minute- her anger dissolving into something that looks like exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” she says.

He stands up and puts on a brave face, “We do this together, just like we do everything.”

“This is different.”

“I know.”

“It’s my fault,” she says, “I hadn’t had my implant checked and I knew that it was time . I should have…”

“Hey, look at me.” he tilts his head so her eyes will meet his, “We did this together.”

 

**...**

Octavia finds Bellamy with his head over a water barrel outside of his tent.

When she’d showed up – whatever had been going on was in full swing. Marcus had gotten involved – which pretty much promises that it had something to do with Abby. As Octavia rounded the corner of the mess area and got a clear view of the crowd outside of medical all she could see was her brother stumbling away. So – like any good little sister would do – she followed him.

“You want to tell me exactly what the hell that was?” she asks as he dunks his head in the barrel again. 

He looks up once, just to check that it’s actually her, and then shakes the hair from his face. 

“Abby slapped the fuck out of me.” he says – his voice sounding a little dazed.

“What!?” Octavia had heard about Abby getting slap-happy before. She and Clarke both got way too intense for their own good. 

“She said I killed her daughter.”

Octavia’s stomach drops. She knows Clarke isn’t dead. She’d seen her just a few hours ago. She couldn’t be dead. The entire camp would probably dissolve into chaos if the princess died, Bellamy would probably be covered in the blood of whoever was responsible.

“Bellamy-“ 

“Said after all these years- all this time saving her- and I- I’m the one that puts her life in danger.”

He’s not making sense at all – and he looks drunk, which is ridiculous because Bellamy doesn’t drink. He tries to dunk his head again, but she grabs his arm – pulling him away from the water so he can focus on her. 

“Just stop for a minute-“ she says “what the hell is going on? How did you put her life in danger?”

He avoids her eyes. “Clarke is pregnant," he says.

She tries to keep the shock from her face, because she’s pretty sure she understands what he’s telling her, but she needs to hear him say it. “And?” she prompts.

“It’s mine.”

She wants to slap him – she actually wants to slap him and she’s pretty sure he can tell because he takes a step back. “I was going to tell you,” he says.

“Oh really,” she says , “why would you tell me about this when you didn’t even bother to tell me you were sleeping with Clarke in the first place?!”

Not that she would have wanted to know really – but it seemed like a pretty big thing, something that should have come up in one way or another.

“I’m not sleeping with her," he says. 

“Oh Okay” Octavia says with a skeptical laugh, “ then how exactly did you manage to knock her up?”

Bellamy stares down at his feet.

“One time thing huh?” she asks.

“No.”

“Well if it’s more than one time then yeah Bellamy I’d say you’re sleeping with her.”

“Fine, I'm sleeping with her.” He tries to retreat into his tent to change his shirt, she follows right behind him.

“Which brings me to my next question. Do you have any idea how much you’ve fucked up? You’re standing here telling me like you’re talking about the weather. We’re talking about a baby Bellamy.”

“Well I’ve just slapped in the face so forgive me for not having my bearings.”

“Not having your bearings?! You should be freaking out.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes some water out of his hair. “What will freaking out about it do? It’s happening- there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“You’re going to be a father Bellamy- to a real live person. Clarke Griffin is carrying your child. Do you even really understand what’s going on?”

He looks up at her so quickly she’s afraid his neck will snap. He looks frustrated. “I understand that out of all the girls that lived in lock up and had those- implant things jammed into their sides- Clarke is only the second to actually get pregnant,” he says. “Laurel and her husband have been trying for like two years, you’ve-“ he freezes when he sees the devastated look on Octavia’s face, “ I didn’t mean that it’s impossible O- I just….. it happened to us, of all people. “

“So it's what?” Octavia says, “a miracle? You and Clarke aren’t even together Bellamy.”

“We’re a team.”

“This is so much different.”

“Well I didn't do it on fucking purpose, but it happened and now I'm just-“

“Crazy?”

“Scared,” he says, “Scared in a way I haven't been scared in a long time.”

“So you're actually doing this?" She shakes her head and sits down, “God you’re out of your mind.”

“Yeah.”

“How does Clarke feel about it?”

“She doesn't know how to feel.”

“So does this mean that you two are you like…”

“No,” he says, “that's not even a conversation worth having. It'll just make it more complicated.”

“Like it isn’t already.”

“Clarke’s not looking for that,” he says.

“But if she was?”

“She’s not.”

“Look I know that you’ve always…..dreamed of having a real family. I’m glad that you aren’t freaking out, but I just hope you realize that this is going to be really hard.”

“Yeah I think the handprint across my face is a good indicator.”

“Did she really accuse you of killing her daughter?”

“In so many words – she’s not wrong, it’s risky. I can love the idea of having a family as much as I fucking want it doesn’t change the fact that this is dangerous for her, for any woman.”

“Clarke is a fighter.”

He nods. She tries to look understanding and supportive as he rubs his face. “So I’m going to be an Aunt?”

**...**

Abby tells Clarke she can’t work in medical anymore after she slams one of the cabinets so hard it breaks a row of test tubes.

It’s been a rough few weeks since the blood test, since she found out that she really was pregnant. So yeah – her temper had been getting the better of her, but Abby had no right to keep her from the only thing that was keeping her mildly distracted – and she told her so, loudly. 

“I realize you’re frustrated but you have to calm down you’re scaring people” Abby says as a few of her techs rush from the room. 

Clarke laughs at her, “Frustrated? I’m puking every morning, barely sleeping every night, and you- you just keep looking at me like I’ve got a terminal illness.”

Abby sighs, and Clarke knows what she’s going to say before she even says it – because she’s said it hundreds of times. “I just want you to think this through.”

_You could die, you’re not ready for this, this is a lifetime commitment, it’s going to be so hard, I can’t promise your safety or the baby’s._

“I have thought it through. This happened mom, and I can’t change that. It’s not about me anymore, it’s about this kid. I'm not going to be responsible for the loss of another innocent life. I don’t care what happens to me.”

“And Bellamy, what does he have to say?”

“Why do you care what Bellamy has to say – you aren’t speaking to him. Fox told me she watched you slap him across the face last week. Bellamy hasn't said anything, but you and I both know how you get when you're angry.”

“I’m not angry- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you! of watching you struggle through something you aren’t ready for because you rushed into a relationship that-“

“Bellamy and I are not in a relationship.”

“Oh that’s music to a mother’s ears.”

“Mom,” she slams her hand on an exam table and stares into her mother’s eyes. “What do you want me to do? Do you honestly not want me to have this baby – Do you want me to – to….”

Abby lets out a frustrated sigh. “Of course I don’t-“

“Then get off of my fucking back!”

“Watch your mouth," Abby snaps. “You don’t understand, and you won’t until you’re a-“ she stops and closes her eyes. Clarke knows what she was about to say, _you won’t know until you’re a mother yourself._

Clarke feels tears in the back of her eyes – this pregnancy has forcibly relocated her heart to her sleeve and it’s bullshit. “Mom I don’t – I don’t want there to be another thing between us, especially not this. I understand your concerns but taking it out on me and Bellamy isn’t going to change anything. We can’t go back in time. You’re going to have to just get over it.”

“Get over it?” Abby says, nearly hysterical. “Clarke, you’re going to be a mother – I’m going to be a grandmother, Bellamy Blake is going to be a father- look around us, this isn’t the kind of place where families get happy endings. I never wanted a child to have to go through what you went through, to have parents that are forced to be the ones to make tough decisions because those kids, they’re the ones that get hurt the most and I sure as hell don’t want you to have to see your child look into your eyes the way you looked into mine.”

Clarke is quiet, processing everything her mother has said- trying not to take any of it personally. She’s being honest with her – which is a nice change of pace, and strangely enough the kind of frustration Clarke feels right now doesn’t make her want to yell- she just wants to prove her wrong. 

“Mom-Bellamy and I – we’ve already seen those looks. We were dropped down here with a bunch of confused kids, we were the parents forced to make the tough decisions and we’ve seen them look at us like heroes – and look at us in absolute horror. If anyone on this planet understands that happy endings aren’t in the cards it’s us. You don’t even know half of the-“she stops herself , taking a deep breath. “This is happening, and you don’t have to like it as my mother but as my doctor, my chancellor. I’d appreciate a little support.”

Abby nods, but she still seems pretty upset. “Alright, well then as your doctor I’m telling you you can no longer work here. Clearly its causing you too much stress and that’s the last thing you need- especially with a high risk pregnancy.”

“There was nothing in my check-up that indicated that this was a high risk-“

“Every pregnancy down here is high risk,” Abby says seriously. “I need you to understand that.”

Clarke nods.

“You’re done with council meetings too. You need to take a leave of absence.”

“I will,” Clarke says, “during my third trimester, and not a minute sooner.”

For a moment Abby looks like she’s going to argue, but she puts her hands in her pockets and looks away from her. “You should go get some rest, your face is flushed- you need to be watching your blood pressure.”

“Is that your way of dismissing me?”

“Clarke,“ she says with a shake of her head, “it’s for the best right now.”

So Clarke storms from medical with her fists clenched, wondering at what point this pregnancy will stop feeling like another hit to her relationship with her mother. 

**...**

Clarke and Bellamy endure the awkwardness of the three month check-up together. Abby has since apologized to both of them, but she still looks like she’s going to burst into tears at any moment throughout the whole exam. She says everything looks fine so far- advises Clarke to stay hydrated, get a lot of rest, eat when she’s hungry, and keep her stress levels down.

Bellamy glares at her as Abby counts off on her fingers – Clarke hasn’t been doing any of that, has never done any of that actually.

So they bicker as they leave medical, and people smile and wave at them – a few giggle, because it’s common knowledge that Clarke is carrying his kid. It doesn’t really seem to bother her – she’s more interested in berating him for telling her mother about her dizzy spells. 

They stop to grab some food for dinner- and Clarke ends up yelling at him for watching her like a fucking hawk while she eats. Of course Miller overhears and that pisses Bellamy off because he knows they’ll be laughing at him on guard duty so he makes some comment about her having a stick up her ass, and she pisses him off even more by not getting angry. She just raises her eyebrows at him and asks him to go get her another bowl of stew. And he does it – something else Miller will make a little comment about- but he doesn’t say another nice thing to her for the rest of the meal. Though actions do speak louder than words so it probably means more that he refills her glass of water twice and crawls under the table when she drops her fork than when he tells her she’s a pain in his ass. 

That night they call a truce. The weather is nice- not too hot, not too cold. There’s probably a rain storm on its way, judging by the breeze. They were invited to a fire tonight- but they both seem pretty content to just sit outside of Clarke’s tent with a small fire of their own. 

“It’s quieter,” Clarke says with a smile.

She’s right. 

So he pulls out a jar of moonshine, and she shoots it a longing look that lasts only about as long as the sunset. In the darkness the sits across the fire from him, her legs curled under her, her hand resting on the barely visible bump on her stomach. She’s ranting about their need for art- how no society can really be civilized without it. She probably wouldn’t even care if he wasn’t listening at this point. She’s pointing up at the sky and telling him about painting landscapes, and some famous picture called “Starry night.” She smiles at him over the fire – totally focused on something that makes her happy. There’s no weight on her shoulders, no worry wrinkling her features. Sometimes when her eyes shine like that, he’s pretty sure he loves her. That’s a dangerous thought, one he keeps to himself. 

He goes in and grabs her a pelt from her bed to wrap around her shoulders when she shivers. She grabs her jar of plain old water and takes a long drink. “Tell me something you’ve never told me before?' she asks. 

He looks at her and raises his eyebrows, “Clarke, I seriously doubt that there’s anything you don’t fucking know about me.”

“Try me,” she twists her jar around and watches the water swirl.

“Fine,” he says- she watches him lean back and look up at the sky, counting his secrets on the stars.

“I slept with Raven.” He squints up at her- expecting her mouth to be open in shock at the very least. Instead she smirks at him, takes another long drink, and laughs.

“Well that only took seven years to come out.”

“You already knew?” he asks.

“Raven told me years ago.”

He leans forward and rests his arms on his folded knees- the posture he takes when he’s interrogating someone, “Why would she do that?”

“She uh- misunderstood the nature of our relationship.” Clarke says.

Bellamy stares pointedly at her stomach before laughing- “Did she?”

“Shut up and try again.”

He looks nervous, “Fine – I uh – I’m pretty sure I’m afraid of fish.”

She laughs so hard he’s actually concerned that she’s in pain. “How is that possible?!”

“I don’t know- one brushed up against my leg in the river a few years ago – can’t shake it. They’re disgusting.” It’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t mind telling her – not when it makes her look like that. 

“So you can take down boars and panthers or run head on into war, but fish?” she laughs again, “it’s not like they can hurt you!”’

“You wanted a secret, I told you a secret.”

“Fish.” She repeats with a gleeful shake of her head.

“Your turn.”

She looks at him for a minute, and then shifts her eyes to stare at the ground at his feet. “I- had a thing with Lexa.”

He starts to cough – his moonshine obviously going down wrong. “When?”

“Before Mount Weather- after Finn.”

“Why?” he must be looking at her like she’s crazy because she sits up straighter and raises her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, she just – kissed me and I didn’t push her away at first.” She looks sad about it. 

“Lexa is a sociopath.” He’s said it a million times – seriously it was pretty much a personal mantra of his after Mount Weather – they’d pass right over him when he sat in on council meetings _Yes, yes, we know Bellamy the Commander is a sociopath_. He doesn’t even really know if it’s true. He just can’t imagine anyone being so cold and stony. Sure, it makes her a good leader – but never one he’ll trust, never one he’ll allow his people to trust. 

“It didn’t work out- obviously. I couldn’t trust her, not after the Mountain but I just- figured that she understood me and maybe she did, I don’t know. It wasn’t enough.”

“Lexa was never going to let herself love someone-“ he shuffles his feet awkwardly in the dirt “you deserve better than that.”

“Yeah,” she says looking pointedly at him, “so do you.”

He shakes off her serious expression and shrugs, “I know exactly what to expect from people," he says.

“From people or from _me_?”

It’s hard to believe that she’s not the one who’s drunk, the way she’s talking. He feels a fuzziness cloud his brain – it’s not exactly unfamiliar, he’s been drunk before. “Is this really a conversation you want to have right now?” He’s smiling at her – he doesn’t exactly mean it, but he’s smiling at her. 

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“Ask me another question.”

“I can ask you anything?”

“Sure.”

“And you have to answer?”

“There’s nothing that you could ask me that I wouldn’t be willing to tell you Clarke,”

“Okay,” she says with raised eyebrows and a dangerous look on her face, “tell me…..about the best sex you’ve ever had.”

He has no idea why he’s still smiling – his entire body feels cold, his heart is beating wildly “You fishing for compliments Griffin?”

“You said you’d answer anything.”

“Yeah but that’s not a genuine question,” he says. “You just want me to talk dirty.”

She tries not to laugh, but he still sees the smile sneak into the corner of her mouth. “Tell me.”

He sighs and leans back, resting his arms behind his head like he wants a good view of the stars, really he just can’t bring himself to look at her. “It was you,” he says.

“Me?”

“Definitely, definitely you.”

“Hmm,” she says. He hears movement and glances up to see her rise and start to walk towards him, “you’ll have to be a little bit more specific, I don’t really remember.”

“If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s not working.” He snorts – though it sounds pathetic. 

“Why would I be trying to seduce you?”

“Good question.”

She straddles him – just outright straddles him, doesn’t even try to be discreet about it- doesn’t even glance around to see if anyone can see them. It’s a crazy turnaround from when she was bickering with him this afternoon, now she’s looking at him the way he imagines she’d look at that Starry Night painting if she could ever get her hands on it.  
“Are you thinking about that time during the thunderstorm?” she asks into his ear, as he clenches his fists so tight it feels like he’s losing circulation to his fingers – of course there may be another reason for that- “when you bent me over that trunk in there?”

“Clarke,” he warns.

She bites his left earlobe and he jerks away, “This is a hormone thing isn’t it?”

She bats her eyelashes at him and rolls her eyes, “Don’t worry, you’re the one who’s drunk. I’m taking advantage of you.”

She actually looks a little guilty, he can’t help but laugh. “Yeah you definitely fucking are.”

She kisses him once- quickly pulling back to look at his face. “Come inside.”

“Clarke-“

“What the worst that can happen Bellamy, I’m already knocked up.”

He leans his head into the crook of her neck and groans, “Too soon,” he says, “Not ready to joke about it.”

“Come on, you’ll be helping me.”

“Helping you?”

“Yeah – I need to get a good night’s sleep remember? I need to reduce my stress levels – work up an appetite for the morning.”

He’s laughing again, all of tension in the air slowly turning into something more familiar, more comforting, “Yeah I don’t think me fucking you is the solution your mom had in mind.”

“Okay, so let _me_ fuck _you_.”

Son of a bitch she’s really not playing around. 

“Seriously, I’ll do all the work,” she says – like its something she’ll actually have to talk him into, “you’ll just be along for the _ride_.” She rolls her hips a bit and the half empty jar of moonshine falls out of his hand.

“ _My God_ , who are you and what have you done with Clarke Griffin?”

“I feel good right now,” she says, “I feel happy and – I don’t know how long that’s going to last. Pretty soon my body is going to be completely different, I don’t even want to think about what’s going to happen to it when it actually comes time to –“

“You are destroying the mood right now.” He laughs.

“Is there a mood to destroy, you don’t seem all that into it.”

He pulls her further onto his lap, and she yelps a little. “I don’t?” 

She looks down at him – that way she sometimes does – it reminds him of the way she looked that first week on the ground, when the only think keeping her from plummeting into one of the grounder’s traps was his grip. It’s still like that sometimes – like in a bigger, metaphorical sort of way- it definitely goes both ways. 

“Please stay with me,” she says.

He doesn’t care that doing this complicates things. He doesn’t care that she’s being fueled by hormones and he’s had more moonshine than he has in a long time. He’s just happy she’s here – because there were so many times- too many times – that she could have been gone, that really horrible, permanent kind of gone.

“Anything you want.” His voice cracks as he sits up and leans his forehead against hers.

“Anything?” she asks.

“Tell me.”

And she does- she says things that make that make him laugh , and smile, and kiss her , and eventually throw her over his shoulder –kicking dirt on the fire and disappearing into the darkness of her tent. 

They deserve this – whatever it is they have on nights like this. 

They’ve survived so far- so they deserve this.

**...**

By far the worst thing about being pregnant was how it has affected her sleep.

It wasn’t so much that it was difficult to fall asleep, Clarke was used to that – she struggled to get comfortable within her own mind long before her body made it difficult to drift off – it was how difficult it was for her to come back to herself once woken. She used to be such a light sleeper, the smallest gust of wind could have her shooting straight up in bed, now she had to drag herself out of sleep.

This particular night she wakes when she hears the sounds of someone entering her tent. The first thing she realizes – because her instinctual fear of someone creeping up on her doesn’t kick in like it should – is the sound of rain pattering against the sheet metal they’d used to reinforce the top of her shelter, making it less like a tent and more like a messy amorphous structure of fabric and scrap metal. Next, as she slowly opens her eyes she notices that it’s dark – it had been late afternoon when she’d laid down after Miller had threatened to tell Bellamy if she didn’t get the hell out of the sun. It had been hot so she’d listened.

She turns her head and squints, her heart jumps when she sees the form of a person, shaking the rain off of themselves – outlined by the grey light from outside. She sits up, so quick her head sort of spins and tries to reach over for the knife she keeps by the bedside. 

“Calm down it’s just me.” Bellamy says, as he throws his jacket to the floor and approaches the bed.

She can feel the tension radiating off of him- even though her vision is still shrouded by sleepiness. She falls back onto the pillows and breathes out a sigh. Bellamy sits down next to her. She looks up at him, his head is bent – his elbows resting on his knees. After a moment he sits straight up, his arms going behind to support him. She can feel him searching for her hand, and it’s unusual because Bellamy is never affectionate for no reason. Something is wrong. 

“What?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer but his hand stops moving.

“Bellamy what is it?”

She sees him tilt his head back and stare up at the ceiling – she’s noticed him do this sometimes – like he’s looking up for guidance. 

Easily irritated, because of her pregnancy and her ruined nap, she sits all the way up and tugs on his hand until he turns and faces her. “What is wrong with you?” she snaps – and she doesn’t feel bad about her aggression until he grabs her arm and pulls her towards him, his hand guiding her head to rest in the crook of his neck – in a desperate sort of hug that she was really not prepared for.

She can feel how upset he is, and her mind automatically jumps to the worst. “Who is it?” she asks, pulling back from him, “Who ‘s dead?” 

He takes a ragged breath and ducks his head again. “Mason Ogden.” He says.

Clarke’s heart sinks. Mason Ogden was an earthborn, one of the little boys in the village – he was only six, seven at the most. His father was in the guard – his mother had died shortly after he was born.

“H- how?” she stutters. 

Bellamy sounds nasally, she thinks he might be crying. “He uh- he was playing outside of the wall, wandered too far into the forest. One of the old traps sprung…”

Clarke claps a hand over her mouth and feels her eyes start to burn. 

“They found him on evening rounds,” he says. “I had to tell Jack, had to tell him his son was gone, that he has no one left.”

“Bellamy-“

“He blames himself," he turns and looks at her, “he says he told him he could play outside of the gate, that he only looked away from him for a minute, and now he’s gone.”

“Is he –“ she stops herself from asking if Jack was alright. Bellamy shakes his head anyway.

They sit there in the silence for a moment. Clarke listens to the rain fall, and she thinks she hears Bellamy take a few more ragged breaths over the sounds of her own tears. She hates seeing him like this, hates that she really doesn’t have the strength to give him their well-rehearsed speech- the one about how bad things happen and it’s not always their fault. All she can really do is try to awkwardly scoot forward through the tangle of blankets and pull him back into that hug. This time he rests his forehead on her chest and pulls her so close she has to take a deep breath. 

As unusual as this is – it feels sort of natural. She doesn’t actually say anything to comfort him, but she knows that’s not what he needs. He needs to be reminded that he has a family. So while he breaths against her she takes his hand and puts it on her stomach – the baby isn’t kicking yet but she hopes it’ll be enough. And he lets out a quick sort of laugh, smiling into her skin and spreading his hand over the bump. He raises his head and presses a kiss against her cheek. 

This is how it is with them now…….it’s still a little weird. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says, his voice sounding a lot stronger.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m glad you did.”

He looks at her – in that way he does sometimes – but she finds that it doesn’t make her as uncomfortable as it once did, now it’s just that weird fluttery feeling, the one that makes her hands feel tingly and her cheeks bunch up to fight a smile. But then he looks down at his hand and she sees the sadness come back – the worry.

“You can stay if you want,” she says. “So you won’t have to walk through the rain.” She knows he won’t argue with her, knows that he would never leave her when he’s feeling like this, so she pulls the covers back to welcome him and turns onto her side to try and get comfortable again. His hand slowly trails away from her stomach and she hears the sounds of his boots hitting the ground before a warmth covers her back and he rearranges the blankets around them.

She doesn’t try to distance herself when he pulls her towards him – even though she knows she’ll probably get hot during the night. He needs this right now- and she probably does too. She counts his breaths as they warm the back of her neck, and just as she starts to slip off he leans forward to speak into her ear.

“I want you to move into the house as soon as possible.”

He says house, but he means the shack he and Miller had been working on all summer. As far as she knew it barely had four walls let alone a roof. Finding the lumber was hard work – all of their more permanent structures were big, time consuming projects. Bellamy wasn’t the first to build his own living-place, but he had to have gained approval from the council to do so. She knew her pregnancy had been the reason he’d gotten than approval – it had most likely been the reason he’d started wanting something more than his old tent in the first place. She had been waiting for this conversation and deep down she knew a baby needed better shelter than what she was living in – it’s something her mother had said over and over, wanting her to move into her quarters on the ship – but she had hoped to hold onto to her independence for a while longer. She’d hoped that he would wait to ask her until the baby was born.

“Bellamy….” She starts to say, his arms tighten around her.

“The roof will be finished by this week, then there are a few things we’ll need to do to the inside. I’m still working on furniture and it’s small but it’s a start. I can keep working on it, maybe add to it one day, but it’ll be ready to be lived in by winter. It’ll be warmer Clarke, warmer , and dryer and more secure.”

“I know. I know – and I always thought that after the baby came-“

“Now.” He says in a voice that’s almost pleading. “I want you to stay with me – in my tent until the house is finished and after that….”

She tries to turn in his arms but he holds her in place. “I’ve been doing fine living here on my own,” she says, “there is no difference in this tent and yours. I understand after the baby comes but until then…”

“Clarke, please.”

“I like living here. It’s quiet, secluded.”

“Close to the wall, dangerous.”

“I can protect myself.”

“I need to protect my family," he says, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “I need to protect you and –“ his hand rests over her belly again, “and I know you can take care of yourself but I just- it’s my weakness that I’m worried about now okay, not yours. I need to know you’re safe.”

The look in his eyes makes her want to just give in to him – but she can’t, she shouldn’t. They had discussed this and agreed that nothing about her life would have to change until Clarke was ready for it. He was upset and she understood why – he had a bad habit of really taking things to heart.

“I think we should stick to the plan,” she says. He sighs and his forehead falls forward to lean against her shoulder. “The house is for the baby Bellamy, and that’s fine. I have no problem with that but – I don’t think us living together right now is the best idea.”

“Why not?” he asks gruffly. 

“Because when you stayed here last week I seriously contemplated beating you to death with your own boot after watching you re-lace it six times.” He doesn’t say anything so she tries to turn towards him again, “and yesterday when I refused to eat that stupid apple you broke out into a rage sweat.”

“I did not.”

“You did, and it’s okay. We need space from each other. That’s the only way this is going to work, especially because we’ll be spending a lot more time together when the baby comes. I can’t have you breathing down my neck and you can’t have me snapping at you for every little thing. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to not hate each other and that means having separate living spaces as long as we possibly can.”

He flops over onto his back and throws and arm over his face. She thinks he’s probably rage sweating again. 

“You can stay here whenever you want to,” she says, “you can check in on me anytime you want to. I know this baby is just as much yours as mine.”

“It’s not just the baby,” he says. “It’s you - you can be so fucking stubborn about -“

“Didn’t you consider me family before I got pregnant?”

He’s quiet.

“You let me live here by myself, made your little comments, and sent an extra guard around on nights when you had a bad feeling. There’s no reason why any of that has to change now.”

If he’s wondering how she knew about the patrols he doesn’t say anything, but he does lower his arm from his face.

“I know what’s running through your head, after everything that happened with Octavia on the Ark – you’ve got that instinct to protect. I’m thankful for that, but our situation is ….different.”

“You didn’t see Jack’s face-“

She sits straight up, “You’re not going to be able to keep an eye on me or this kid for every waking moment of every day Bellamy. God – how many times have we had the _bad things happen and sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it_ conversation?”

He’s glaring at her, “I’m not going to apologize for being concerned about your fucking safety especially after what I dealt with today.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Don’t start Clarke.”

“Do you trust me?”

He sits up and meets her eyes. “I have never trusted anyone the way I trust you, and you know it.”

“Then accept the fact that you can’t control everything. We’re supposed to be a team – you don’t see me following you around making sure your shoes are tied and the safety is on your gun.”

He shakes his head “You’re so full of shit – you repack my bag every time I go out on a hunt. You have literally put me under 24 hour watch because I slipped on some rocks….”

Her eyes widen – how dare he accuse her of mothering him when he hovers around her like a goddamn helicopter?!

“I repack your bag because you fold bandages like a five year old and always forget to pack an extra water skin,” she says- pointing a finger into his face “and how many times have you come back dehydrated-“

He holds up his hand to stop her but she smacks it away – she’s pretty sure he’s smiling at her though the darkness makes it a little difficult to know for sure. 

“And you were on 24 hour watch because you had a concussion idiot, I told you you couldn’t fall asleep and you just kept drifting off like a goddamn –“

“Idiot?” he finishes for her – and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Oh this is funny now?” she says, “I swear to god you do it on purpose, get me all angry and then calm down so that I look like the crazy one.”

He lays back down, extending his arm as a silent invitation – neither of them would ever say the word “cuddle” out loud. “You are the crazy one Clarke.”

She scoots closer to him, laying down and purposefully elbowing him as she does, “And you’re an idiot.”

He intertwines their fingers and pulls the back of her hand up to his lips – and for a minute she feels guilty for ever calling him an idiot.

“When it gets closer to the due date,” she starts, “when I can’t get around as easily, because believe it or not I will actually get bigger, if the house is done I’ll move in – but if it’s not….it’s probably a good idea for me to stay with you.”

Compromise. That’s what’s always worked best between the two of them.

“Alright.” He says.

“But you have to trust me to decide when that is.”

He’s quiet for a few breathes, “I do.” He says.

 

**...**

About 27 weeks into her pregnancy – Clarke visits her mom when she wakes up to blood in her bed. At first she’s panicked, but then she focuses so much on keeping it from Bellamy so he doesn’t freak out that she manages to calm herself down.

Her mother tells her she’s experiencing a complication called placenta previa. It’s not necessarily a major problem – it’s certainly not unheard of – but she tells Clarke that she needs to cut back on her physical activity. That means bed rest.

She has to explain it to Bellamy three or four times – “the placenta is covering my cervix” – eventually he stops looking like he’s going to vomit. 

“I just need to rest, “ she says bitterly. “if the bleeding stops than everything will be fine and if it doesn’t-“

“If it doesn’t?”

“Then it could led to preterm labor – and that means a cesarean section.” 

His eyes are wide, the way they are before he shoots something. “Your mom said that was a worst case scenario.”

“It is.” She’s not going to lie to him, if it comes down to getting a C-section…she may not survive. She’s so annoyed about being confined to a bed that she isn’t really allowing herself to worry.

Bellamy rubs his hands over his face – he’s leaning against his makeshift “chart table” in his tent, looking at her as she examines one of Monty’s little mock- drawings of his proposed irrigation system. They’ve been working on it for weeks – he’s going to have to come sit in this tent with her because there’s no way she’s not going to be involved in it.

“What else can we do?”

Clarke doesn’t hear him right away – she’s squinting at a symbol Monty has scribbled in the corner-

“Clarke!”

She looks up and he’s glaring at her. 

“Can you put the fucking drawing down and talk to me about this?”

“There’s nothing else to talk about. I’m on bed rest and we’re going to monitor it.”

“I knew something like this was going to happen.”

“Complications aren’t unusual Bellamy, especially here-“

“I’m aware.”

“Then stop looking like the universe is trying to smite you. It’s just something we have to deal with.”

He stares at her in disbelief for a second, and then leans forward with wild eyes. “Why aren’t you freaking out about this?” he almost yells.

She just raises her eyebrows. “I think you’re freaking out enough for the both of us.”

In that moment it’s almost funny how quickly they’re roles can switch. Bellamy has been preaching to her about staying calm for months and now he looks like he’s going to collapse into a ball on the ground.

“Bellamy it’ll be alright,” she says. And her actually saying it seems to make him snap out of his panic, he shakes his head once and then apologizes to her. 

“You’re right,” he says. “You’re right – I’m just….tired.”

“You’re allowed to be scared,” she says, “but we’re doing all we can, at this point – it’s out of our control.”

“Are you sure you’re alright here? Does your mom want you in medical?”

“I’m fine here.” She says patiently – it doesn’t seem to ease his mind. “Why don’t you go find something to distract yourself with.”

He gapes at her, “I can’t just leave you here.”

“You gonna spend the next three months sitting her staring at me?”

Finally he agrees to return to the wall where he was supposed to be supervising monthly maintenance, but only after Clarke asked him to send Monty and Jasper in to sit with her in his place – they’re going to talk about work but Bellamy doesn’t need to know that.

Sure enough both Monty and Jasper – who have always been clearly freaked out by Clarke’s pregnancy – pointedly ignore the bed-rest situation and talk to her as enthusiastically as they would have had they been standing in their lab. They even use her stomach as a model of the south hill when they’re trying to explain something about runoff and erosion – Clarke starts laughing so hard she ends up crying.It happens like this a lot – one strong emotion propels her into another. She spent the whole day trying to pretend like nothing was wrong sitting here with people who were trying to do the same thing somehow made it all seem worse. Monty and Jasper look horrified – and start apologizing like they’ve offended her, she just grabs their hands until she calms down, sitting up straighter and blinking tears from her eyes.

“Listen,” she says, “we need to have a conversation that doesn’t leave this room.”

The idea of keeping anything from Bellamy seems to terrify them, because they both start to back away from her.

“You two – you’ve had my back since we landed.” She said, “You’re my oldest friends on the ground. I told you then that you would be the future of this group and I still believe that.”

“Clarke why are you….”

“There is a possibility – a slightly larger than minuscule possibility – that I could… die.”

They’re eyes widen.

“What?” Monty asks, “What are you talking about? When we walked in here you said everything was fine.”

“It is fine.”

Jasper steps towards her, “You just said you could die…..how is that fine?”

“There are just some complications – it’s not uncommon. You know - I mean, you know what happens sometimes.”

In the eight years they’ve been on the ground, They’ve buried six women from complications during and after child birth. 

“So it’s just like a precautionary thing,” Jasper says. “I mean there’s nothing really wrong – you’re just being cautious?”

She hesitates for a second. “Yes,” she finally says, “so the next part of this conversation – you’re going to want to interrupt me, you’re going to want to tell me to stop, you’re going to want to clasp your hands over your ears and act like you can’t hear me but I am asking you – as my oldest friends – please just hear me out.”

Jasper and Monty both look at each other and then nod. 

“If I die,”

Jasper opens his mouth but Clarke holds up her hand , “You just promised.” 

“If I die, I want Monty to take my place on council – I’ll talk to Mr. Brandywine about creating some kind of official document or something. Jasper you’ll have to – probably fill in for Bellamy in the interim, if Octavia isn’t back, but it can’t be permanent. He needs to be on that council to get his promotion.” She takes a breath and tries to regroup her thoughts. “When they’re finished, take these plans straight to Kane before you present them to council – he’ll tell you how to dress it up so they won’t nitpick and low-ball you with ridiculous questions. My mother will listen to him, remember that always.”

She gestures for them to move closer – which she probably didn’t need to do considering there was no one else around. “Council has been discussing the drop ship.” She says, “they haven’t put it up for public debate yet, but they believe there is usable material there – they want to scrap it. Bellamy and I have held them up because we hoped to talk to all of you about this first, but it’s probably going to pass through. The original agreement , the one we have drafted right now protects the graveyard – if I’m not – if I’m not here and Bellamy is distracted DO NOT let them relocate those graves.”

They’re still nodding, but she almost feels guilty about how uncomfortable they look.

“I’m going to – eventually have this conversation with Bellamy, but I don’t think he can – now’s not the best time- and I’ll speak to Raven eventually , and my Mom but I need you two to promise me that If something happens to me, I’ll be buried in the dropship graveyard.”

“Clarke.” Monty whines.

Jasper is staring down into his lap, “Can we talk now?”

She nods.

“You’re not gonna die.” He says definitively – in a tone that almost sounds like he’s mocking Bellamy. “You and Bellamy are going to have your superhero baby, who will probably end up being the savior of all mankind and Monty and I will be his most trusted advisers. This is going to end well because – we all deserve that.”

“I know.” She says.

“So just stop thinking about what’s going to happen when you die because that’s not going to be for a long time and then you can tell _your kid_ where you want to be buried.”

“Jasper-“

“No Clarke, don’t put this on us. I know you think you’re being practical but – it’s not even something you should talk about. You’re going to be fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to upset you Jasper.”

“She wasn’t – she wasn’t trying to upset us.” He repeats sort of hysterically.

“Jasper,” Monty warns.

Clarke just sighs, “You’d think after all this time we’d all be a little bit better at dealing with death.”

Monty leans forward and grabs her hand. “You are not going to die.”

 

**...**

She dreams of a flood.

Gushing black water that runs over the mountains – collapsing trees as it speeds towards them.

She’s standing on a guard tower against a grey sky, her stomach in painful knots. She turns towards camp – expecting to see her people in a panic, but there’s no one there.  
The water comes closer – she knows she won’t survive it. She’s just about to close her eyes and take her last deep breath when a stabbing pain in her stomach makes her surge forward.

There is no water, she’s alone in Bellamy’s tent. The bed is shrouded in half darkness, she can tell that it’s light outside. Her entire body is covered in sweat. She sits up slowly – wonders for a moment where Bellamy is until she remembers _Hey, we’re leaving- I’ll be back by noon. Don’t get out of this bed until Raven gets here_. He’d spoken the words directly into her ear before kissing her somewhere on her face and disappearing. She has no idea how long ago that was.

When she’s finally upright, her hands planted on the furs under her hips, she realizes something is wrong. Not only are the furs wet, but there’s a creeping ache in her abdomen- getting stronger even as she thinks about it.

“Son of a bitch,” she breathes. Pain slams into her, it’s not blinding yet, but it’s certainly uncomfortable and she knows it’ll only get worse. Bellamy had told her last night that he thought he should sit the scouting trip out – but they were inventorying the drop ship wreckage , one of them needed to be there for that. She’d promised him that they had a few more weeks, and he had looked at her like his gut was telling him otherwise. 

She should have learned by now – Bellamy’s gut was usually right.

“Shit,” she says, talking herself down as the pain slips away from her. She needs to change, she needs to get to medical, to send someone to get Bellamy. Raven was supposed to bring her breakfast, but Clarke has no idea when that will be. She’s on her own for now. So she struggles to her feet, and inches her way over to the trunk with her extra clothes – the ones they’d sewn together to cover her like a fucking circus tent. God she’ll be glad when this is over.

The next contraction hits her when she’d pulling on a new shirt. She cries out this time, grabbing her stomach like that would actually relieve any of the pain. She breathes through it in the way they told her she’d have to and by the time it fades there are tears on her cheeks. She walks slowly back to the bed – lowers herself onto it so she can put her boots on, contractions are at least five minutes apart. It’s happening faster than she thought it would, and too soon , almost three weeks too soon. It’s alright though, her mother told her if she made it through last month she’s probably be out of the woods until delivery time. The thought of delivery sends a whole new batch of fears into her brain. She starts to cry – mostly because she can’t really reach down and lace her boot – but also because she’s not sure she can do it.

“Alright Clarke,” a voice calls as someone rustles through the tent flap, “Reyes got a late start so she sent me. Apparently it is crucial that you eat all of this fruit before you- whoa, whoa, whoa what is happening?!”

She looks up and sees Kyle Wick, standing there with that stupid food tray – looking like he’s just uncovered a murder scene.

“I’m fine,” she says, wiping tears from her face, “I’m fine- I just…I need to get to medical.”

She watches him struggle to make sense of the situation, then his eyes widen and he starts to shake his head. “Oh no,” he says, “no, no, no , no, Come on! Seriously?! He just left!”

“It’s not like I can control it!” she yells, “Oh my god just help me with this boot, please just help me.”

“Clarke calm down, the boot should be the least of your worries.” He walks over to her, setting the tray on the bed and crouching down to pull the laces tight on her feet. “Your mom is just going to make you take them off when we get there.”

Clarke groans and reaches out to grip his shoulder as another contraction starts. “Fuck,” she whispers, “fuck, I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this.”

Wick is making a high pitched sort of noise- obviously suffering as she digs her nails into his shoulder but unwilling to shake her off. When the contraction fades back into a dull ache, he looks at her with panicked eyes.

“That’s normal right?” he asks. “That- that- all that pain?”

Clarke ignores him, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to keep her own panic at bay. “Bellamy isn’t here.” she says. “The house isn’t ready –“

“Don’t worry about that now.” He stands up once her boots are laced and whips his head around the tent.

“How am I not supposed to worry about it?!” 

“We’re going to get Bellamy , that house is like 90% done, I’ll finish it myself if it comes down to it – right now we need to get you across camp.”

“I can walk.” She stands up and grabs his arm for support.

“No,” he says, “No I’ll have to – I’m just going to carry you.”

She tries to take a step away from him. “Are you kidding? Have you seen me?”

He raises his eyebrows as she points to her stomach, “I’m not sure which of us you’re trying to insult.” He says.

“Go get the chair,” she says – referring to the ridiculously unstable pile of metal they’d contorted into a “wheelchair” for emergencies.

“Clarke-“

“I’ll be fine here by myself just go get the fucking chair and come right back.”

She can feel another contraction start to build, so she doesn’t really feel bad about yelling at him. He’s starting to look as terrified as she feels so she waves her hands at him – like she’s shooing a fly- and he starts to jog from the tent, mumbling a list to himself _get the chair, get Reyes, wake Abby , bring the chair back._

“And for fuck’s sake send someone to find Bellamy!” she yells after him.

She has two more contractions before he returns. Raven is with him, pale faced and panicked- apologizing to her over and over as she helps her into the chair. It takes a lot of effort to push it, so Wick does most of the hard work while Raven walks along beside them. She tells her that Abby is up and waiting for her, that Monroe took one of the horses to find Bellamy. Clarke nods along but all she can really do is count the minutes until the next contraction. 

It’s a strange, hazy sort of in and out experience after that. On one hand she’s absolutely hyper aware of every stinging pain shooting through her body, but people come in and out, squeeze her hand, wish her luck. She doesn’t even remember if she thanks any of them.

Her mother is frantic. There’s no way Clarke can miss it, but she can’t really reassure her right now – not when she’s supposed to be the one doing the reassuring.

“Mom,” she says- shooting her a worried look and wiping some sweat from her forehead.

“You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Abby says.

Clarke nods. “I know.”

“It’s not that early, everything looks good so far so don’t worry.” She won’t look at her – like she thinks a lack of eye contact is going to keep Clarke from noticing her tears.

“Mom, stop crying.”

“I can’t – give you anything for the pain right now.” Abby says, shaking her head.

“I know, that’s okay.”

A contraction hits, and Abby fades into the background.

The next moment Clarke really remembers is when Bellamy comes barreling into the room, breathing wildly. One of Abby’s assistants yells at him about his gun so he hands it off without even looking. Any impulse to yell at him for taking so long to get to her fades, and she just smiles and feels relieved because Bellamy is here now. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, “I’m so sorry. I fucking knew it and I went anyway.”

“I told you to go.”

“How are you? Do you need anything? What can I-“

She reaches over and squeezes his hand as another contraction hits. She tries not to make much noise, tries to make it look less painful than it is, but that doesn’t change the way Bellamy is looking at her- like it’s his fault. 

“Hey, breath,” he coaches, “let it out Clarke, breath through it.”

“It’s almost done,” she says to reassure him, “just a- a few more- seconds.” She collapses back when the pain recedes and pulls the hand she had clasped around his close to her chest.

He looks like he’s about to start crying – and she’s not sure if it’s guilt, or excitement, or worry, or maybe some kind of crazy combination of the three.

“What can I do?” he asks, “Tell me what to do.”

“I just needed you here.” she says. “I needed – I wanted to do this together.”

He nods, his eyes fading into something more confident. He’s been through this before – in much, much more dire circumstances. She can do this if he’s here.

“Hey,” she says – her voice sounding weak, “Mom said it’ll only be a few more minutes.”

“Is everything – I mean there aren’t any problems or-“

“No,” she says, “no it’s fine.”

“Clarke,” he leans closer to her to whisper his worries, the way he does at council meetings sometimes, “it’s early.”

“It’s not that early.” She says, because that’s what Abby told her. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

He looks ashamed again. “I should be the one promising you.”

Her thoughts are fast and blurry – her body anticipating the next wave of pain.“I want to tell you something.”

“Hmm?”

“I couldn’t have asked for a better father for my kid,” She says. “I’m so lucky….we’re so lucky, I almost feel guilty.”

He looks away from her. “Clarke,”

She grips his arm – another contraction is starting.

“You know- shit – you know how I feel about you, right?” She doesn’t look at his face, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes deep breaths. The pain is deeper now, it comes slower but it stays longer. She hopes that he knows what she means. She keeps talking to be sure. “After everything – my God – everything we’ve been through- everything you’ve done for me- you know what that means to me, what you mean to me. I just want to make sure you know because – I may start saying some horrible things to you. This really – fucking hurts.”

She tries not to thrash around , tries not to break Bellamy’s hand, she’s pretty sure she’s screaming a little bit. Her body feels exhausted already, she has no idea how the hell she’s going to be able to push.

When it stops, and her heart rate starts to return to normal Bellamy leans forward and frames her face with his hands. “Of course I know.” He says, “and you can say – anything you want, whatever you want- free pass.” She smiles at him, but he doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry that I can’t – make this hurt any less. I would if I could.”

“I’m fine.” She has no idea where this confidence is coming from, “I can do this.”

“Yeah, you can.” He’s grinning at her. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know.

She lets out a laugh, “We need to watch our language.” She says, “First word out of that baby’s mouth is going to be fuck.”

He lets go of her face. She tries to focus on his smile, “I’m going to finish the house.” He says, “I promise.”

“I’m not worried about the house,” she said. “I just needed you to be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“It shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

Bellamy makes a face – like his gut is disagreeing with her – and she groans because Bellamy’s gut is usually always right. 

**...**

She’s in labor for twelve hours.

Twelve fucking hours.

Little things keep going wrong, things Bellamy doesn’t understand and Abby really doesn’t have time to explain to him.

Clarke does say a lot of horrible things to him- and he’s half surprised that he’s not going to end up losing one of his fingers after the whole thing.

It feels like a goddamn miracle when the baby finally starts to crown. All the fear and helplessness – it just builds and builds until something actually starts to happen, and Bellamy can see – really see- that this is real. When finally Abby has the baby in her arms, tells them it’s a boy, his son, HIS son cries for the first time. Bellamy’s knees shake, and he just feels- some kind of stupid happy he’s never felt before. Clarke is breathing heavy, asking him if everything is alright, trying to get his attention. Bellamy just keeps staring. He’s sort of gross looking honestly – but he’s alive, he’s breathing, and he’s real. 

When he finally looks down at Clarke, while Abby and her doctors are cleaning the baby off, she’s crying- and he can see some of the darkness fade from her eyes, in a way that has got to be permanent. They both just sort of stare at each other, because they know they just did something amazing, something that almost almost atones for all those other things they’ve had to do.

“Is he- Is he okay?” Clarke asks, trying to crane her head to see.

Bellamy nods- trying not to actually wipe at his eyes. Abby walks over to them- hands Clarke a bundle of blankets, still crying quietly. She leaves her hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and they both watch Clarke look down at her son- in that way Bellamy’s seen her look at him- envy and relief and devotion – the way you look at a hero.

He doesn’t even think about Abby standing over his shoulder – he can’t think about anything but what she looks like right now, who she is and what she’ll always mean to him. He’ll never forget this feeling – the look in her eyes, the way he can just sort of see both of their features on the baby’s tiny face. When she looks up at him – with her mouth hanging open like _can you believe we created this thing, that we may have finally done something right_ , he surges forward and kisses her. He’s never kissed her in public before, and he’s never kissed her quite like this either. He’s lost his damn mind- but she kisses him back so he thinks maybe she’s lost hers too. He definitely can’t help but mumble those words they silently agreed to never say to each other , that three word phrase that they both planned to save for deathbeds or the end of the world. He says it against her lips – quiet but definite. And maybe it doesn’t really count, because they’re both sort of delirious with happiness and relief, but he’s pretty sure when he sits down next to her, and she puts his son into his arms for the first time, that she mumbles them against his shoulder. 

They name him Noah – or Clarke does rather. The name comes out of nowhere but Bellamy doesn’t have a problem with it. She mumbles something to him about a flood – and he vaguely recalls a story about a man named Noah and and Ark and the end of the world. 

So hey, maybe Noah fits just fine. 

They let him hold Noah while Clarke recovers. When Abby is sure that Clarke is alright she approaches him slowly and holds her arms out. Bellamy looks over at Clarke who nods – and Abby Griffin looks like a different woman as she cradles the baby’s head.

It’s like that for a few hours. People come and go. Clarke and Bellamy cling to Noah. No one else really asks to hold him- which is good because Bellamy is pretty sure he’d just tell them no. He does grab Raven’s finger with his little fist and she nearly bursts into tears, and when Jasper and Monty lean over him Jasper swears he winks at him.

Octavia isn’t there. She thought they had more time. She’s going to be furious with herself when she finally returns, but he knows she’ll take one look at that kid and her cold, hard warrior stare will melt into that look she had the first time she saw a butterfly. 

They tell him Clarke and Noah will have to stay a few nights in medical- just to be safe. He is awful small and Abby wants to be sure Clarke won’t suffer and after-effects. Bellamy fully intends to sleep on the floor next to her bed if he has too. The thought of leaving them makes his chest hurt- he hasn’t even really been able to look away from Noah for fear that he’d look back and somehow he’d be gone. So he tells Clarke he’s not leaving, and she lets out an exhausted laugh and shakes her head. 

“You need to get things together,” she says. “The house, the crib. We weren’t ready.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“We’re just going to sleep.” She says, “trust me , you want to get as much sleep as you possibly can before we take him home.”

“Clarke-“

“Bellamy you haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Go take a nap, do some work on the house.”

“I-“

“If anything were to happen, you know you could be here in less than five minutes. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah I know,” he says, and he knows he still has a lot to finish in the house- especially if he wants to be able to move them in in three days- of course he knows that he needs sleep, and that it’s best to get it while he can but he just- can’t leave. 

“Go Bellamy.”

“I don’t want too.” He says- and God he sounds like a little kid.

She smiles, “You have too, you’re a Dad now-“ she yawns, “go do Dad stuff.”

His heart clenches, Dad stuff. Noah is sleeping in what is pretty much a plastic bin lined with blankets next to her bed. He’s a Dad now. He kisses his son, kisses his….Clarke…and makes himself leave medical.

When he gets to the house it’s late afternoon. It has been over 24 hours since he’s slept, but he fully intends to work on the roof of that house until the sun sets, that is until he sees that it’s already been finished. 

Wick stands in the sun- yelling up to Miller and a few of Bellamy’s other friends from the guard. In fact upon closer inspection there is actually a hoard of people inside and around the tiny house. Raven is putting finishing touches on the crib. Monty is inspecting the ventilation of the fireplace they’d built. Fox and Harper and some of the other girls are hanging fabric from the windows – covering the only bed in the room with what looks like some kind of patchwork quilt. 

He just stands there in the midst of it all- gaping like an idiot. 

The fact that he has a family – a real one, a big one, has just been shoved into his face so many times today. He’s sleep deprived, and excited, and a father, so he’s thankful when Raven hugs him, because he can lean his face down and wipe those embarrassing tears away onto her shirt- and he knows she won’t say a damn thing even if she feels the wet spot.

They all help him move he and Clarke’s stuff – the small amount of stuff they have- into the house. Wick is talking his ear off about extension plans, how he thinks they could easily add on another room- maybe even a porch. It all sound sort of impractical, but Bellamy doesn’t care. 

One by one people trickle off as the sun sets, to get to work or back to their own families. Raven and Miller are the last two standing – or sitting rather - on stacks of lumber scraps that sort of function like benches.

Miller hands Bellamy a cup with barely any moonshine in it. Raven toasts to Noah and all three of them stare out at the darkness. Part of Bellamy wants to tell them to leave so he can sleep – or go back to medical, but it feels good to take a minute to relax, to process. 

“So,” Raven says after five or so minutes of silence, “Noah huh?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, “Clarke’s idea. I wasn’t going to fight her or anything- Noah’s Ark and all.”

“Noah’s Ark-“ Miller repeats thoughtfully, “the guy who built a boat for one of every animal to survive the apocalypse?”

“Yup.” Raven says, “a giant flood. They loved teaching us that story – something ironic about it I guess.”

Bellamy nods, “Definitely ironic.”

“Jasper has been telling everyone your kid is some kind of superhero.” Raven says “that name certainly didn’t deter him.”

“Hey if anyone is going to end up raising a super hero it’ll be you two,” Miller says with a smile, “let’s just hope the worst is over- that we won’t need a hero.”

“Nah,” Bellamy says, “the worst is never over- too much time. There will always be heroes and villains and victims. It’s a pretty cruel fucking world we just brought a kid into.”

“Yeah but he’s going to be an awesome fucking kid.” Raven reminds him.

He smiles, he can’t help it.

“So tell me something,” she says –obviously wanting to take advantage of his vulnerable state, “when did this whole thing start?”

He raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“You and Clarke?”

_That day in the woods when Atom was dying and I couldn’t do it and it wasn’t like she killed him- she ended his suffering and she was just beautiful and terrifying and I was so glad she was there that I knew I was fucked._

He doesn’t say that though- he just tilts his head at her like he’s confused.

“How did you two end up having sex?”

Miller looks uncomfortable, Bellamy just laughs. It takes him a minute to remember honestly, because after today it feels like he’s aged 10 years.

He takes a drink. “After the bear.” He says.

After a disastrous encounter with a very pissed off bear on a hunting trip and a nightmare about Octavia and Clarke throwing handfuls of dirt on his dead body, he realized that there was a lot that he needed to say to them. He and Octavia had sat and talked for hours in medical while he healed- they’d been closer ever since. When he was finally able to walk again and tried to tell Clarke everything he needed to say…things escalated.

“So what happens now?” Raven asks. “I mean – you’ve got one bed, one house, a kid.”

“What happens now is we’re parents – everything we do will be what’s best for Noah.”

“That could get complicated.”

“We can handle it.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue with her right now – luckily Miller picks up on that and stands up, grabbing Raven by the crook of her elbow and dragging her up too. “Let’s let the man sleep.” He says.

They each hug him once more, congratulate him again, and walk off into the darkness. 

He sits there for another five minutes or so. Trying to picture Noah’s face- just to make sure he remembers everything about him. He’s not sure about the nose- whether it looks more like Clarke's or his own- he’s not going to be able to sleep until he figures it out, so when he stands up, he shuts and bolts the door of the house and starts the walk to medical.

It’s as good of a reason as any- he was always going to end up there. 

He’s a dad now.

**Coming Soon: Part 2- The after, the journey, the what the hell do we do now?**


	2. Part 2: The After, The Journey, The What the Hell do we do Now?

**"I always thought that I wanted to form an alliance rather than have a relationship – find someone who you fancy as your counterpart. But a counterpart you go to war with, a complement you live with. So this is my new theory." - Carrie Fisher on finding the perfect man.**

 

 

 

 

Everything about this situation has a feeling of being half-finished.

The house - shack - cabin - sad attempt at a sturdy structure, is made up to look like a home, but there’s nothing homey about it. It’s dark and windowless, it’s floors rough and uneven, giving Clarke splinters as she paces back and forth. Bellamy watches her, purple under her eyes, hair thrown over one shoulder like a knotted fishing net.

They weren’t ready. He was only a few weeks early, but they weren’t finished preparing.

That’s obvious now.

“Alright,” Clarke says, and Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s talking to herself or to him- not that he can even really hear her, “alright so- so what do we do now?” she says. “What do you think?” She’s trying to keep her voice at a nice calm octave, but Noah is crying so loud that she can’t help but sound a little annoyed.

Through tired eyes, Bellamy continues to watch her pace- Noah’s red face peaking over her shoulder.

“I haven’t slept in three days,” he says- maybe not as calmly as he should, “I’m not thinking.”

“I don’t understand,” she says as she gently bounces him and shifts him to her other shoulder, “I really don’t understand.”

“There has to be something wrong.” Bellamy says, “We should take him back to medical.”

But doing that would feel like admitting to Abby that they can’t handle it. Even though he's only been home for two days and already they’re both starting to have their doubts about whether they actually can.

“He’s just over tired,” she says, “If we can just get him to calm down-“

“We can’t get him to calm down,” Bellamy snaps, “We’ve been parents for a week- he’s spent over half of that time crying!”

“Well why don’t you try?!” She snaps back.

He stands up a little taller. He can do this. He’s good at this. “Why don’t _you_ keep your voice down!” he says in a whisper yell, “You’re making it worse!”

Clarke shuffles Noah again. It’s a wonder her ears aren’t bleeding. “What did you do –“ she asks desperately, “with Octavia?” She’s always reluctant to ask about his experiences with his sister- like bringing it up will only remind him that he was forced to raise her under floorboards. All it really does is double that pressure he feels to fix this. He was the only one of the two who had real experience with infants

“O wasn’t really a crier,” he says. “There were a few things….” He tries to put himself back there- with his tiny sister in a bright white room, worry constantly filling his mother’s eyes. She couldn’t have been a crier- she wouldn’t have survived. One of the first things he learned was how to wrap her in that one scrap of blanket they had. Swaddling was important, his mother always told him it made the baby feel safe. 

“Let me try to swaddle-“

“His blankets are fine.”

As fine as they could be, made of scraps of itchy fabric and lined with deer fur.

“Clarke-“

She’s frustrated and just as over-tired as Noah is, but there’s more to it. She hates that he’s the expert here. She’s never been willing to follow anyone blindly, not without a whole hell of a lot of attitude at least. Their arrangement – when it was functional – was always a side by side kind of thing. She’s not going to say it out loud but she’s aggravated that he’s taking the lead on this.

“Just let me try,” he pleads with her, reaching out for Noah, “one more time.”

So he does, he lays Noah on their straw bed and rewraps his little blankets and for a few breathes he calms down. Of course, as soon as Bellamy starts to smile in relief he’s crying again.

“What about if we rock him-“ Clarke suggests in a jumble of exhaustion. She starts making a swinging motion with her arms and he’d probably laugh at her if he wasn’t so desperate to calm his kid down. He finds himself imitating the motion anyway, picking Noah up and rocking him back and forth in his arms.

“This is stupid,” he says, “I’m going to make him sick.”

“Well you’re doing it too aggressively, it’s supposed to be soothing-“

“I know how to soothe a baby-“

“Obviously not!”

Bellamy is trying to hear himself think- trying to remember anything from the last time it was his job to calm a crying baby. They didn’t have much- shadow puppets on the walls, quiet songs, a small space that she had no choice but to feel comfortable in. But there was one difference- one thing that separated Octavia’s little world from the harsh metal hallways of the ARK. “The dark,” he says in relief, “it used to be so dark in our quarters-“

Clarke shakes her head- looking around the already shadowed cabin at the two small candles and half-assed fire in the stone hearth. “We can’t put out the fire- it’s going to get too cold in here tonight.”

So with Clarke asking him so many questions that it's impossible for him to do anything but ignore her, he wraps Noah in another layer of furs and steps out into the night. Clarke follows him – frantically reminding him about the temperature. He looks back and promises her it’ll be alright, and her shoulders sort of relax. She may be really annoyed that he’s taking point on parenthood, but it’s obvious how much she trusts him, as if that wasn’t clear before.

That night the sky is mercifully clear, the moon so bright it might as well be the sun. There’s a definite chill in the air, but not as bad as last October. The moment Bellamy steps out onto the grass, Noah’s cries become just a hair below hysteric and Clarke makes an excited noise.

“Oh my God," she says, "oh my God, this might actually work.”

Bellamy tries not to move the shoulder Noah is resting on as he sinks down to the ground. Thankfully its been dry so there isn’t any mud- not that that would have stopped him. He lays back in the grass and arranges Noah on his chest so he can look up at the sky. Two deep breaths and his crying slows and then stops. Bellamy looks back at Clarke with wide eyes. Her face cracks into a grin and she creeps over to lay down next to them, sneakily adjusting Noah’s blankets as she does.

Noah lets out a yawn and they both can’t help but smile. He’s far too young to appreciate the stars but with the way he’s looking up at them now you wouldn't know it. 

“He really does like being outside,” she whispers. Which had seemed to be the case a few times in the last couple of days- when cool air seemed to calm his crying fits.

Bellamy doesn't want to risk making a noise, so he just nods.

Slowly Noah's little eyes start to close, his breathing becomes even.

It’s become pretty obvious to them even in the small amount of time he’s been in the world.

Noah loves this place.

 

**...**

Bellamy was away.

He didn’t want to be away- but someone was missing – and that meant a search party, which meant that Bellamy had to go and make sure no one else ended up missing.

He’d promised that he’d be back by dark.

Clarke wasn’t that optimistic.

“I think it’s time for bed Noah Blake,” she says to her son- where’s he’s laid out next to her, half dozing off.

It’s way past his usual bedtime- she’s probably a horrible mother for keeping all the candles lit, for talking to him, disturbing him from slipping into sleep, but Bellamy isn’t there. Going to sleep without him feels like a betrayal on some level. It’s also scary. Anytime Clarke spends alone with Noah is scary.

Her mother says that’s normal. She checks up on her a lot, asking her how she’s feeling, if she’s been depressed. She hasn’t been – but motherhood has been a challenge. 

Every little mistake she makes- even if she knows it’s a little mistake- feels like verification of her lack of a maternal instinct. She may have had it once, but this world rung it out of her, left her dried out and brittle- like all good warlords are.

Now she’s a mother. Now she has a tiny person that needs her- that will learn how to be a person from her, how to talk, how to eat, how to love. He doesn’t know that she’s learning along with him. Maybe he’ll never know. She hopes not.

“We can go to sleep,” she says as she turns onto her side and lets him grab her finger, “and when we wake up Dad will be home.”

He wiggles his arms. Clarke frowns.

“You miss him don’t you?” she says, “you and him- you understand each other.” She leans closer- resting her head against his blankets and listening to him breathe. “I don’t understand you yet Noah, but I promise you that I will. And you and me will learn every day. I’ll take you to see waterfalls and giant trees, and mountains- and everything that’s wonderful here. Everything that was born here- like you.”

She sits up a little straighter. “Humans are horrible,” she tells him, “they tried to destroy this place once- your home. But you won’t be like them- you have too much of your father in you,” she smiles. “He’s a hero. He doesn’t notice but he is. You’re going to be proud of him- always.”

She hesitates- reminding herself that he doesn’t really understand everything she’s saying. “One day someone will tell you a story about me- and you won’t be so proud. Even if they call me a hero- you’ll feel it like I do- right down in my gut.”

Noah’s eyes are starting to drift closed, “But we’ll be alright,” she says, “because by then we will understand each other, and no one will ever love you as much as I do. You won’t doubt that for a second. I promise.”

She closes her eyes, “I promise you waterfalls, and shooting stars, and a home Noah. This world is yours. Everything I ever did was so I could give it to you.”

She falls asleep thinking about shooting stars. So far away in the sky that she watches them without worry, and Noah is old enough to hold her hand and point at them, and Bellamy tells stories about gladiators and gods, and the night is warm and cold at the same time.

Hands wake her up.

One tucked under her knees, the other behind her back, pulling her from the cuddled up position she’d curled into. She reaches for Noah- but she finds Bellamy’s fingers.

“Where’s Noah?” she asks- because for some reason being apart from him feels like being in a dark room without a light.

“In his crib,” Bellamy whispers, brushing the hair from her ear.

“He can sleep here.”

“Clarke-“

“Please?” she hasn’t opened her eyes, but she’s sure she isn’t dreaming. She can smell the forest on him. 

“He’s sleeping,” he says, “if I move him again he may wake up. That’s the last thing we want.”

“Can you move the crib closer, so I can see him?” Bellamy doesn’t answer- when she cracks an eye open she sees him staring off at the crib- formulating a battle plan. He turns back to her- sees that her eyes are open. His own melt into something softer, “Hey,” he says, “you alright?”

“I just want him near me,” she says. “If you don’t want to wake him up- I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No,” Bellamy says, “don’t move.”

A moment later, Bellamy is climbing into his side of the bed, the space in the middle is framed by all of their pillows. Noah, still asleep, is king of that little mountain. Clarke lays her arm against his little foot. Bellamy does the same.

She falls asleep next to heroes and dreams of the stars again.

 

**...**

Noah grabs at the wooden beads around Octavia’s neck with his little three month old fingers. 

Octavia’s face lights up when her nephew giggles, Bellamy puts a hand on her shoulder and pulls her back.

“Take them off,” he says sternly.

She rolls her eyes, but takes them off immediately, handing them to Lincoln who is standing nervously behind them.

Noah is lying on his belly on the big bed that Clarke and Bellamy have just broken down and started calling _theirs_. Neither is usually occupying it at the same time, one is out doing something or up with Noah. Right now Clarke is probably bickering with Wick and Raven about the radio tower. The walkies they send out with hunting parties usually malfunction in the winter. Clarke refuses to believe that there isn’t a way to fix that. Bellamy didn’t fight her on it because he figured it was a good way for her to get all those pent up winter/new mom frustrations out.

He and Lincoln were supposed to be working on insulating the cracks around the fireplace. The cabin (which is what they’d settled on calling it) had been getting way too cold at night and they were expecting another big snow soon. Octavia had come along to spend some quality time with Noah, the problem was that Bellamy wasn’t very good at letting anyone get too close to him.

“He’s going to have to interact with other people eventually Bellamy,” Clarke kept telling him.

But the people in this camp didn’t have the best hygiene and Abby had told them several times that Noah’s immune system was still pretty weak.

So Bellamy keeps one eye on his sister while they work. She’s talking to the baby like he’s just another person, telling him about the birds in the forests and the flowers in the meadow. Noah is babbling back a little, usually that means he’s starting to get restless and they try to cut that off before the crying starts. So Bellamy walks over and scoops his son up, wiping some drool from his mouth. “Alright bud, naptime.”

Octavia follows them with her eyes.

“Can I hold him?” she asks. “Just for a second before you put him down?”

“No,” Bellamy says easily- as easy as he has every other time she’s asked.

“Why?”

He turns and looks at her like she’s crazy. “Because I don’t know where your hands have been.”

She watches her brother lay Noah down into his well-insulated cradle. Her mouth is wide open- half offended, half in awe , because despite how annoying it is, his protectiveness as a new dad is adorable.

“Don’t you ever put him down? Let him crawl around?” she finally asks.

“He can’t really crawl yet.”

“Well, let him try.”

Bellamy shakes his head and adjusts the blankets. “You good?” he asks him. Noah just stretches his little arms.  

Octavia sort of nudges him out of the way so that she can be the center of the baby's attention.“Noah, Noah Blake,” she sings-  he looks up and his little eyes widen, it’s how he laughs- just the twitch of his mouth and wide eyes, sometimes a little noise. “Hello Noah Blake.”  
   
“We should let him sleep,” Bellamy says, “he had a bad night last night.” Even as he says it, he doesn't take a step away. He stares down at his son's chest- counting his breaths maybe. It's not something that surprises her- that he's like this. She can only imagine what it was like when she was a baby, and he was just a six year old holding a tiny life in his hands. It breaks her heart really, because he's never gotten a break from feeling like that- like his life force is tied to another. He's been her human shield for the entirety of her existence, now he'll be trying to split himself in two to protect her and Noah- three really if you count his thing with Clarke.  
   
Lincoln, who is fluent in her awkward silences and meaningful stares, wanders out of the cabin under the pretense of examining the chimney from the outside. Octavia takes advantage of the moment of privacy to grab her brother's hand.    
   
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy,” she says.  
   
“What do you mean?” He doesn't pull his hand away, he would never do that, but she can tell that he's uncomfortable.   
   
“You don’t have to raise him the way you raised me," she says, "it’s a different world Bellamy.”  
   
It's just as dangerous, _life_ is dangerous and Octavia has learned 1000 times over that there's no escaping that, but Noah isn't like them. He was born here. He will spend every minute of his life here- belonging here. For all intents and purposes he is a Grounder, or an Earthborn as people have taken to calling them. Noah belongs here- Octavia never really belonged anywhere. There won’t be any hiding or secrets. He can just be, and that should mean an incredible feeling of relief for Bellamy.  
   
“You think if we’d been here that anything would have been different?” he asks.   
   
She laughs and remembers that relief never lasts long for her brother. He's always waiting to battle the next monster. “Maybe you’re right," she says. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that- I hope you know that you don’t have to make up for anything- from me.”  
   
He'll always blame himself for what happened, that's something they've both accepted. She doesn't hold anything against him- he is her hero, her family, her big brother. He's never going to be carefree and easy going, that's a big part of what makes Bellamy, Bellamy.   
   
“Thanks O," he says- in something that sounds an awful lot like Clarke's diplomatic voice.   
   
“You don’t believe me.”  
   
“It’s not that," he says, and finally he looks away from Noah to meet her eyes. "you forgiving me and me forgiving myself are two completely different things.”  
   
“Yeah, I know.”  
   
His eyes drift down to his hands. “I don’t ever want to feel that way about him.”  
   
“Bellamy,” She nudges him so he'll look up at her, “you know that you’re my hero right? Of anyone that has ever existed and all those guys from the stories, you have always been my hero. And that kid-“ she points down at him, “he can barely even hold his head up on his own, but I recognize the look in his eyes when he sees you. You’re his hero too- already.”  
   
He pulls her into one of those rare hugs they get to share when no one else is around. A _you and me against the world_ kind of hug. That's how this started- and since then they've added a few people to their family, but the heart of it is right there between them.  
   
“When he wakes up," Bellamy says, "if you wash your hands and change your shirt, you can hold him.”

 

**...**

 

They’re all crowded around the tiny table some of the guys had built for Bellamy. The only reason it remained in the house was because it was a gift- otherwise Bellamy would have used it for firewood the day after they got it. “What fucking good is a lopsided table?” he mumbles to himself about three times a day.  
   
Tonight they had bound some woodchips together and shoved them under the shortest leg in order to make it functional. It was going about as well as you’d imagine it would- especially with an 8 month old baby flinging food in every direction and frantically kicking his feet in an attempt to get out of his chair. 

(The chair was another gift- but one constructed by someone who actually knew what they were doing)  
   
“Please try it Noah,” Clarke pleads, “it’s good.” She tries to put the spoon in his mouth, but Noah jerks his head away.  
   
“See, he knows that’s a lie.” Jasper says with a grin- swallowing down a portion of his own stew. “I think Bellamy may be a better cook that you Clarke.”  
   
“It’s bland on purpose, his digestive system can’t handle all the shit we usually throw in to make it taste better.” Bellamy says. He’s got his arms crossed in front of him, staring intently at the stubborn look on his son’s face. Noah’s not eating like he should. Abby says it’s nothing to worry about really, because his growth is right on track, but there’s nothing about this baby that doesn’t make Bellamy nervous.  
   
“Maybe I can try mashing up an apple again, he liked that this morning,” he suggests- once Noah has actually attempted to knock the spoon from Clarke’s hand.  
   
Clarke sets it down and takes a deep breath, trying to be mindful of their company. They shouldn’t have invited anyone over, but Jasper and Monty wanted to talk about the many flaws in the plans for the irrigation system, a conversation that was older than Noah. That was stressful on its own, on top of a cluttered living space, lop sided table, watery soup, and a son that was as stubborn as his father – it was unbearable. “He can’t live on apples Bellamy,” she snaps.  
   
“Obviously,” he glares at her, picking up the spoon and trying it for himself.   
   
He holds it right by Noah’s mouth- like he hopes that he’ll just get irritated and take a bite to make it go away, the way he occasionally tries to bully Clarke into having conversations she doesn’t want to have- hanging around until she’s so sick of seeing his face that she’ll talk about anything he wants just to be rid of him. Instead of caving in frustration, Noah’s face starts to get a little red, an early indicator of a baby meltdown. “He needs to want it on his own,” Clarke says in a tired voice, “you can’t force him.”  
   
Bellamy doesn’t relent. “He’s never gonna learn if we don’t force him.”  
   
Within minutes, Bellamy is able to force a spoonful through Noah’s lips.  Just as he’s turning to gloat, Noah lets out a scream and flings his arm forward. The bowl of stew that Clarke had been carefully keeping out of his reach splatters onto the table and the small amount that had been in his mouth is now covering Bellamy.   
   
 They both sit there, father and son, covered in stew and spit-up. Monty and Jasper look horrified, but as soon as Clarke meets Bellamy’s eyes- sees the carrots in his hair and the smashed pea that’s basically one blink from being in his eye, she bursts into laughter.

Achy muscles, teary-eyed, belly cramp sort of laughter. The kind that on the Ark might have earned her a day in Psych Eval. It’s a relief. She hasn’t laughed like this in years- especially at Bellamy’s expense.    
   
“This is not funny,” he says- but he’s sort of laughing himself and as soon as Jasper lets out a snort and joins Clarke, he allows himself to openly chuckle a little.  
   
Noah is beaming like he’s just done something wonderful, and in a way maybe he has- the tension is sort of gone now. He's been doing that a lot lately.

“Look Noah,” Clarke says through a particularly hysterical bout of laughter, “you ruined Daddy’s favorite shirt.” She grabs his little hand and he lets out the highest pitch, happiest noise they’ve ever heard come out of him.

Seeing him, actually outright laughing for the first time- makes them all laugh so hard they have to wipe tears from their eyes – although maybe Clarke’s aren’t just because it’s funny. 

“Are you laughing at me punk?” Bellamy finally asks as he picks him up. Noah shrieks with laughter again. Bellamy beams like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. He reaches for the little blue rag/bib and wipes the stew from his son’s smile. “God I love you,” he says quietly.

Clarke hears him, and for about the millionth time since Noah was born she feels like this whole thing must be a dream. It’s enough to quiet her laughter.

 “Let’s just cut up a carrot and one of those little potatoes,” she says, grabbing the rag and clearing up the spilled stew. “I’ll boil them, we’ll let them cool and put them out on the table and he can grab them if he wants them. Can you change his shirt? I'll have to do wash in the morning."  
   
“Stubborn like your mother,” Bellamy mumbles in Noah's ear. He turns to Monty and Jasper and sighs. "One of you needs to hold him for thirty seconds."

They glance at each other and shrug- a few months ago this would have been a terrifying assignment, but Bellamy is getting better. He’d let seven people hold Noah- most of them he’d trusted when they said their hands were clean, instead of  standing over their shoulder and watching them do it, like he’d done to Wick.

"Which?” Jasper asks.

"Whichever one is cleanest."

Clarke snorts, but Bellamy doesn't even bother to glare at her. She does plenty of crazy shit when it comes to Noah. She’d once ignored him for an entire day because when he’d burped Noah at breakfast he’d “swung him over his shoulder like that filthy fucking riffle.” As far as he, and everyone else, is concerned they’re an identical kind of crazy.

Monty reaches his arms out, and Jasper doesn't look all that offended for not being the chosen one. Clarke watches carefully and barks out instructions like she's done all four times Monty has been able to hold him. "Support his butt, don't let him grab at your buttons, be careful he will pull your hair."

Noah just keeps making excited noises, maybe because Monty hasn't exactly stopped laughing. "Look at the mess you made Noah," Monty says. Noah lets out another laugh and starts to squirm around. 

 "That's what Mom and Dad get for giving you nasty soup right Superman?" Jasper coos.

Bellamy walks past and smacks him in the back of the head, "Don't talk to him like that," he says. He holds out his hands and Monty passes the baby back.

" _Ow_ , talk to him like what?!" Jasper demands.

Bellamy begins to systematically change Noah, not even sparing Jasper an apologetic look. "Like he's a moron."

"He's a baby!" Jasper says, "It's called baby talk."

"We try not to do that," Clarke explains, "Bellamy believes that it's insulting-"

He turns and glares at her, "Right _I_ believe it, which is why you said the exact same thing to Mel yesterday."

“Okay, that was ridiculous,” she says, “I could see it on his face-"

"He's not even one and already he's rolling his eyes at people for not giving him the proper respect?" Jasper asks, "Yeah he's definitely your kid.”

It’s not clear which of them he’s talking about.

"You two are the ones telling everyone he's a superhero." Bellamy says, "what's that gonna do to your ego?" He asks as he turns Noah to change his shirt.

Jasper laughs, "Well I mean- he sort of is.  I know we joke about it but in all seriousness, the kid has done a lot for us."

Clarke stops wiping and smiles at them, Bellamy continues to dress Noah - who has settled down to a mildly excited babble. 

"He's our Earthborn you know?" Jasper continues, "He's our connection - and maybe we'll have some of our own one day but for right now- we have Noah. We love him. Which is amazing because he is loud, and he does do a lot of really gross stuff, and you're right about the hair pulling-"

"Point being," Monty says, locking eyes with Noah where he sits on Bellamy's lap, "if you ever need anyone to make him laugh, or clean up any gross stuff, or anything at all- ever- we're your guys."

Clarke smiles, an unbelievably bright smile that looks like Dropday- when they were kids who had just survived the impossible, discovering everything that was wonderful before it turned on them. Hope is what it is. It's what they used to see as a constant glow in Clarke's eyes. Noah hadn't inherited the bright blue color - instead he had big brown eyes that Jasper was pretty sure were identical to Bellamy's, but when he smiled and laughed that glow was there.

Bellamy is smiling too- with one eye on Clarke and the other glancing at them in what is clearly unwavering gratitude. "Well Noah," Clarke says, "I guess you get to hang out with your goofy uncles while Dad helps me clean his mess up."

"My mess?" Bellamy asks- handing a clean Noah over to Monty with only a slight look of apprehension. "I'm the one that argued solid food in the first place."

"You're the one that was trying to force feed him-"

"Force feed? Don't you think that's a little dramatic?"

"And you know better than anyone that you have to keep things out of range of his feet- we can't keep wasting food."

"Stop trying to feed him things you know he isn't going to eat."

"Obviously I didn't know he wasn't going to eat it," Clarke says - and its not angry like the bickering they had all grown so used to over the years, it was more affectionate than anything- like they'd trained their voices not to sound anything less than pleasant in front of Noah. He was watching them from Monty's arms, back and forth, reaching forward a little bit every time one of them spoke. Until Jasper made a ridiculous face and said Noah's name in a high pitched voice and the baby found it so funny that he nearly toppled backwards out of Monty's lap.

Clarke and Bellamy silently watch out of the corner of their eye as Monty bounces Noah on his knee and Jasper hums some melody he calls "superhero music." Noah is clearly having fun- but so were Monty and Jasper.

"We made that," Clarke whispers when Bellamy bends down next to her to pick up a few stray pieces of carrot. 

He looks over at them- two of their friends who had been through just as many nightmares as they had- laughing like the goofy kids they hadn't had enough time to be. His son beaming around like some kind of little star. He see's Clarke in Noah's face more than himself when it's like this, because he may be the safety and the strength but she's always been the hope. 

Her face is flushed and happy and very close to his- so since everyone else is so distracted, and because whatever they had between them had produced an actual ray of fucking sunshine- he leans forward and presses his lips against hers. 

They don't show affection very often, and mostly that's because they haven't really sat down to discuss exactly what they are to each other, but everything about this moment is so simple and innocent that Clarke just closes her eyes and smiles a little wider.

Noah is hope.

 

**...**

 

They didn't often invite anyone over to eat dinner in the cabin.

Part of that was because of how messy it always was- and that crooked ass table Bellamy just couldn't manage to fix. A bigger part was that they'd been trying to spend more time outside of the cabin now that Noah was older. The April weather had brought them a lot of beautiful days so they'd made the most of it. That's where Noah was happiest.

Tonight was Abby's birthday. Last year Clarke had simply put Noah's six month old hand in some clay, let it harden, and given it to her as a gift. This year Abby said she just wanted to spend some time with them- apparently that also included Bellamy.  Of course Clarke had failed to mention that until the day of, so Bellamy had to rush across camp as soon as he noticed the sun setting with splinters still in his hand from the handle of their ragged ax.

He was late.

"Abby," he nods as he closes the door behind him, wincing at its loud creak.

She was sitting at the table with a plate in front of her- half turned towards Noah who had wide eyes and grappling fingers pointed in his direction.

"You're late," Clarke reminds him. She's setting a plate down in front of the stool he usually claimed as his. She doesn't seem angry- just nervous. The way she used to get around Abby. He chalks it up to her obsessing about the council meeting at the end of the week and sits down.

"DA!"

"Hey bud," he reaches across the table and grabs one of Noah's hands. Clarke notices him flinch.

"What did you do?" she doesn't wait for an answer- doesn’t even expect one. She sets her plate down and reaches over to grab his arm and pull it towards her.

"Few splinters," he says. Its more than a few, but he’s got so many calluses he really doesn’t even feel them.

She curses his stupidity under her breath while she wanders over to the basket by her bed where they keep first aid stuff. When she sits back down, she lays his hand in her lap and starts pulling them out. In the awkward silence he notices Noah watching him, so he uses his left hand to start eating. As always, Noah imitates him.

"Wear the gloves," Clarke says.

"It was too hot."

"It was not."

Abby looks over and seems to understand immediately what they are bickering about. "Weren't you just supposed to be supervising?" she asks, her eyebrows tilt the same way Clarke’s do when she’s calling him an idiot without actually saying the word.

"When you want something done ri- _Son of a_ -“he jerks his hand away from her, “seriously?!"

She just smirks. "It's deep- stop being such a baby."

"BABY!!" Noah yells.

"Baby!" Clarke imitates in mock joy as Noah waves his hands around. He's eating berries by the handful. He prefers fruit over meat.

Bellamy is gravely concerned. 

He's about to bring it up to Abby again, when Noah lets out an excited "DA!" and jams a handful in his mouth- missing almost entirely. 

“Oh- I think he needs help-“ Abby says.

Clarke glances up at Noah and shakes her head- returning her attention back to Bellamy's hand. “No he’ll get it.”

Abby looks a little outraged. “Clarke he’s got it all over his face,” she starts to reach for the little blue rag he used to use as a bib, but Noah grabs it first and rubs it across his face once- it doesn’t wipe all of the mess away, but it does the job.

Bellamy looks up at Abby and smirks. She almost looks teary-eyed.

"Look at you," Abby beams, "you're growing up so fast."

Clarke snorts, "Yeah the other day he said "shoe" and I basically cried myself to sleep."

 That had been a rough night. Clarke had stayed up until the early hours of the morning looking at the maps. Her light had woken Noah, who had grabbed Bellamy’s boot from the floor next to where he was playing and said “shoe” just like Clarke did every morning when she walked him around and repeated words over and over. The point was to help him learn- but when he actually did, it was a reminder of how fast he was growing. Bellamy had woken a little while later, when Noah was back in bed. Clarke’s face was pressed into his shoulder, as he sleepily gathered her in his arms and listened to her sob her way through the story. She was tired and stressed, so he listened to her and waited patiently for her to fall asleep- all the while pretending like he didn’t feel the same pang of sadness.

“I hate that we don’t have books here,” Abby says with a sad smile. “He does love listening to people talk. He seems to be picking up on language pretty quickly."

“We try to tell him stories every night,” Clarke says as she pulls another splinter from Bellamy’s hand, “Bellamy talks to him more than I’ve ever seen him talk to anyone.”

Bellamy smirks through a mouthful of food. “He’s got a lot to say- don’t you bud?”

“Yah,” Noah says- but he’s looking over at the fire where a log just made a cracking noise. 

While they eat, and Clarke keeps pulling splinters from his fingers, Bellamy watches Abby struggle not to revert back to the business first- kind of relationship she and Clarke had fallen into. Her knows that she wants to bring up the issues they've been having with their proposed "education system" but she knows her daughter well enough to understand that it'll turn the night south. So they talk about the weather, and Octavia's last visit, and whether Raven was serious when she drunkenly told them she's probably going to marry Kyle Wick this year. Noah listens intently. Yelling out random words he recognizes like O and his gurgled attempt at "horse." Then he loses interest.

He eats for a while. Bellamy keeps a sharp eye on just how much. Soon he seems to notice that no one is really looking at him. Clarke and Abby are talking about the discussion they’d had last council meeting about rain water collection. He watches for a minute or so- maybe listening for words he knows, maybe considering whether to start screaming. Eventually, after he’d crushed a few berries with his little fist and no one had said anything to him, he starts to get fidgety- reaching out his arms towards Abby and leaning forward.

 “Cup,” he says with his hand in his mouth. He repeats it for or five times- kicking his legs back and forth.

“No.” Bellamy says.

“Cuuuuuuuuuupppppp.”

“What?” Abby turns away from the conversation and smiles at her grandson.

“He wants your cup,” Clarke explains. Abby starts to reach for it but Clarke shakes her head. “Don’t give it to him. He’ll throw it.”

“Not my Noah,” Abby says, “he’s the sweetest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Noah grins in triumph.

“Yeah he puts on a real show out there,” Bellamy says. “Probably going to grow up to be a politician – OW.” There’s a sharp pain as Clarke finally gets the one that had embedded itself in his thumb free.

“OW!” Noah repeats.

“You’d better watch that,” Abby says, “the way you two speak.”

"We've been doing alright," Clarke says- seeming just a tiny bit offended despite the fact that her mother has been criticizing both of them for their liberal use of “fuck” for years, "you come up with creative alternatives. Bellamy, for instance, has taken to yelling "maple table!" every time he steps on one of the toys."

Bellamy glares at her. "Clarke prefers to use the real thing."

"I do not!"

Abby changes the subject before the bickering can crest into an actual argument. She tells them, for the third time, about Noah’s visit to medical last week. She swears he’ll be a doctor when he grows up. Clarke agrees.

 “Watch,” she says- sitting up in her seat, “Hey Noah?”

He makes a noise that’s either “Ma” or “Yah?”

“Fingers!” she says.

It takes him a second, but then he holds his hands up with a big smile. 

“Toes!”

He holds one foot up.

“Ears?”

This time Clarke has to grab her own ears before he imitates her. “Alright!” She reaches out her hand and grabs his tiny fingers. 

“He’s very smart,” Abby says with an impressed smile, “but I wasn’t expecting anything less.”

It sounds like a veiled compliment. Bellamy decides to take it that way as he reaches for a piece of meat from the leftovers on Clarke’s plate, she absentmindedly pushes it towards him. “He’s got a thing for the horses,” he tells Abby, “Octavia’s licked his hand the other day. I’ve never seen him so excited.”

“If we put him down outside he’ll start running right for them.” Clarke says as she stands up to clear the dishes away.

“He is fast,” Abby concedes, having chased him around medical a few times during that last visit.

“Speaking of, you should probably let him-“Bellamy begins, but Clarke has already unstrapped him and lifted him from his seat. He’s babbling and Clarke is nodding along like she understands every word. Sometimes Bellamy is pretty sure she does.

Abby takes a moment to glance over at Bellamy- watching Clarke and Noah from the corner of his eye. She recognizes a look that she hasn’t seen in a very, very, long time. She'd always been apprehensive about their arrangement. Her daughter still surprises her all of the time- but she does know one thing about Bellamy Blake. He loves his family. 

“Listen,” she says, once Clarke has put Noah down onto one of his blankets and handed him a few blocks to bang into each other. “If there’s a night where you two want- a break. To talk – or- or whatever. He can stay the night with me.”

Bellamy looks horrified at the idea of his kid spending a whole night away from them. Clarke looks horrified because she definitely saw her mother’s eyes dart to the bed in the corner of the room when she’d stumbled through “or-or-whatever.” 

“You two need to take a break every once in a while,” she says. “The terrible twos are on the horizon-“

Bellamy laughs, right now-watching his son- he can’t even imagine a time when he might be terrible.  
   
   
  **...**  
   
“Shit,” Bellamy says, “I think it’s bleeding.”

“It’s not bleeding.” She’s trying to pry Bellamy’s hand away from his eye so she can examine it- Noah is practically screaming in the background, having been put in a time out for throwing his wooden horse at daddy’s face when he told him it was time to go to bed.

They’d been going through this for weeks- every night when it was time to go to sleep. Ever since they modified his crib so it was more like a small bed. Noah didn’t like change. He didn’t like it when Bellamy wasn’t there when he woke up in the morning after he started supervising first shift guard duty, he didn’t like it when the weather got cold and he couldn’t have apples every meal. He didn’t like it when Octavia came to visit and rode the black horse instead of the grey one. He was going through a phase- a very, loud emotional phase. Thankfully this was the first time it had escalated to physical violence.

Bellamy, exhausted and already pretty pissed off. Is absolutely fuming. Clarke knows it’s not really directed at Noah- but he has a bad habit of acting impulsively when he’s angry. The shit that comes out of his mouth when he fights with Octavia is unreal.

 “I’m gonna-“

“What?” she mocks, “you aren’t going to do anything. Just sit there and calm down.”

He tries to push her away. “He’s been out of control for days Clarke.”

“You’ve been out of control for years.”

Noah lets out a scream- so loud it sounds like it’s actually doing damage to his throat.

 “Noah-“Clarke says.

“No, no, no, no, no NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

“We’re raising a monster,” Bellamy mumbles.

She turns on him, palm itching to slap him across the face. “Shut up Bellamy.”

“Don’t tell me to-“

She shoots to her feet and glares down at him. “I’m not going to talk you down in an hour when your eye doesn’t hurt anymore but you can’t sleep because you called our son a monster.”

She starts to storm away from him, so he reaches out to grab her arm. “Obviously I didn’t mean it.”

“Then don’t say it!” she snaps- ripping her arm away, “Why is that so fucking hard for you to understand?!”

It’s the first time they’ve ever raised their voices at each other in front of Noah, and it’s not doing much to help the situation. He starts kicking the wall, and Clarke is forced to hold his foot still until he stops. She tells him that he’s in time out. That he needs to sit there quietly until he calms down. He tries to hold onto her hands, but she tells him he has to be alone. He has to think about what he’s done wrong.

Noah shrieks when she walks away from him. So loud and distraught that Bellamy feels like he’s in some kind of time-out himself. He’s still frustrated, and his eye is still watering, but hearing his son cry like that feels worse than any amount of physical torture he’d ever endured.

After a few minutes he starts to get up. Clarke sits down next to him on the bed and puts a hand on his knee.

 “No,” she says, “he needs to sit there. Let him cry.”

It’s harsh. She’s right, but it just feels really, really harsh. “Clarke-“

“Bellamy.” She repeats- pressing down on his knee to keep him in place.

He doesn’t argue with her, but she doesn’t let go of him. He’s pretty sure that’s because it’s as hard for her as it is for him- and they’ve done a lot of hard shit together.

His crying isn’t loud anymore- but it’s choppy and uneven, like he’s trying to catch his breath. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut. She starts to stand up, but he stops her. The strength slips back and forth between them- it always has, it’s why they work.

“Alright maybe we-“she starts to say.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her towards him. “No,” he says, “no you were right he needs to sit there.”

 There needs to be punishments. They have to be strong enough to punish their son when he does something wrong.

“This feels like the worst-“

“I know,” he says. She leans against him and they listen- like waiting for a storm to pass, counting the distance between thunder and lightning.

Finally, after about five more minutes, he goes quiet. Just a few sniffles. “Mommy?” he asks. 

Clarke practically jumps off the bed and goes over to him “Mad at me?” he cries.

“No buddy, no one is mad at you. Come here,” she opens her arms and he runs into them- burying his face in her shirt and crying a little louder. “Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad” he keeps saying.

Bellamy steps on the pieces of his broken heart when he finally walks over and crouches down next to them. “Dad’s right here Noah- look.” Clarke says.

Noah doesn’t look, but he holds out a hand behind him and Bellamy grabs it.

“I didn’t- want to- I didn’t- I didn’t,” he’s sobbing- it sounds more like regret than rage.

“Hey Noah,” Clarke says as he peels his face away from her. “look at me. When we’re angry what do we do?”

He mumbles something into his hand, Clarke intertwines their fingers and pulls it away from his mouth. “What do we do when we’re angry Noah?” she repeats.

“Use words," he sniffles.

“Why did you go to time out?”

“I threw.”

“You threw and what else?”

“I hit Dad.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I yelled and then I went to time out.”

“And next time you’re angry what are you going to say?”

“I say- I don’t wanna go to bed Dad.”

“Good-“ Clarke says, with a relieved smile, “say you’re sorry please.”

“I sorry.”

“and to Dad.”

He turns and Bellamy struggles to keep a stern look on his face. “Sorry Dad.”

“Come here,” he holds his arms out and Noah turns into them. He’s not crying anymore, but he’s rubbing his face like he’s does when he’s tired. 

“It’s time for bed now Noah,” Clarke says. He grips onto to Bellamy. “No,” she reminds him, “you get to sleep in your new big boy bed.”

He makes a whining noise. For a moment Bellamy is terrified that the whole thing is going to start all over again, but then the diplomat in Clarke comes out. She grips his shoulders and looks into his face with a smile.

“If you get in bed, Daddy will tell you whatever story you want and Mommy will stay next to you all night. Okay?” she asks.

He looks at her and nods once.

After all that, and it was that simple.

Clarke’s a hell of a diplomat. And when it comes to Noah, she’s the only one that can reign him in. Like father like son. 

 

**...**

 

Lincoln takes the way they’re glaring at each other as a warning sign. Instead of dropping off the baskets Octavia had asked him to return, he walks over to where two young boys are digging in the dirt and taps his nephew on the shoulder. 

They both notice, but immediately return to glaring at each other once Lincoln has his back to them.

“Why are you actually upset right now?” Bellamy whisper yells- as if Noah would even pay attention to them over whatever dramatic story his Uncle was telling him.

Clarke clenches her fingers a bit. Probably the most irritating thing about arguing with Bellamy is when he tries to tell you why you’re mad. As if you don’t have enough self-awareness to really know. “I’m upset because they caught our son outside of the fence,” she snaps.

He does look guilty, and she knows that’s only because if roles were reversed he’d pop a blood vessel in his eye screaming at her. “He’s a kid Clarke-“

“And where were you?” Her voice is getting louder- dangerously close to violating the  _don’t fight in front of Noah_  policy they’d been holding themselves to for eight years. “Where we you while he was following Danny Yanda out into the woods?”

She turns around to make sure the boy in question hadn’t heard his name. He’s just as enraptured by Lincoln as Noah is. He’s not a bad kid per se, but he has a terrible habit of doing exactly what his parents tell him not to – when they bother to notice what he’s doing at all. He also told Clarke to “fuck off” once- but he was six, and no one else heard it, and she’s pretty sure Bellamy thought she was joking when she told him.

When she turns back around Bellamy’s eyes are narrowed. “You know where I was.”

Of course she does. People had been gossiping about it all day, not that that bothered her, she’d grown used to people running their mouths years ago. The part about this that irritated her was how bad it stung all on its own. She, a woman in her thirties, felt the same jab of immature jealousy that she felt as a child on the ARK when Wells had chosen another reading partner. It’s embarrassing that she’s acting this way. She’s struggling to even look him in the eye really, because she knew something like this would happen one day. Being in this label-proof ambiguous partnership was her choice, more so even than his, because she’s pretty sure at one point he had wanted everything with her. But the idea of that scared the shit out of her so she’d asked him to understand that she needed their family to stay exactly the way it was, a complex rambling conversation where she’d said everything but the plan and simple fact: “I don’t want to get married.” 

She takes a step back from him and shakes her head. She shouldn’t be doing this. “Forget it,” she says. 

He looks over her shoulder at the boys and pulls on her arm, “Let’s go inside and talk about this.”

“No – you know what. I’m overreacting. I’ve had a horrible day, I’m acting ridiculous.

She tries to step away but he refuses to let go of her arm. “We need to talk about this.”

As adults, leaders, parents, every other hat of responsibility they wear, they’ve learned the hard way that leaving things unsaid is like letting a wound fester. So they shoot a glance at Lincoln, who looks up from Noah long enough to nod at them before walking side by side into the cabin.   
   
It’s a cluttered mess- in a way that they both secretly love, though Bellamy bitches about it incessantly. It’s a mess in a way that they never imagined a home could be a mess. The wood of the floor covered with handmade toys and some mud from yesterday’s rain. By their one window, with a pane of glass that’s nearly clear enough to see out of, is a tiny uneven table with a scratched top, clay cups still out and half full with water and tea from this morning’s breakfast. Noah’s bed is lodged awkwardly in the corner, Bellamy is planning some more construction before his next growth-spurt. Their bed- the one they both use because its practical- is a patchwork of fur pelts and woolen blankets that weren’t nice enough for Noah’s bed. Their clothes lay in a pile on Clarke’s side. She’d been putting off doing wash for about a week, but Noah would be out of pants soon.

Bellamy walks to the center of the floor and nudges a stick Noah had been using as sword out of his way. “I was with Morgan,” he said. “We were talking about archery.”

Morgan was a few years older than him. She’d come down with the exodus ship, fought her way through the war and the bullshit like the rest of them. She was different though. She’d been training to become a teacher on the Ark. She was one of those people that seemed desperate to learn everything about anything. She was smart, useful. Clarke considered her a friend. 

“She’s good,” she says. 

Bellamy nods, “She’s going to start teaching again.”  
   
“No I mean- she’s good.” Clarke leans back against the rough wooden footboard of their bed. “She’s a good person, she’s a good friend to you, she’s good with Noah-“  
   
She suspects that he knows where she’s going with this, because he turns away from her and picks the stick up to toss into the woodpile by the fireplace. “Except when she’s distracting me from watching Noah?” He mumbles.  
   
Morgan and Bellamy had always gotten along well, which was unusual because there weren’t many people he took to right away. She’d never felt intimidated by their friendship, or even jealous if she’s being honest. All it really is is guilt, because deep down she knows that there’s a lot she’ll never be able to give him. She’s always known that, but a few years ago- in a very rare argument between them- Octavia had gone off on a rant about how Clarke took advantage of Bellamy, “What does my brother even get out of your relationship Clarke?” She’d apologized almost immediately after, but hearing those words come out of someone else’s mouth had made that guilt take root in a whole new way.  
   
Morgan had approached her at the Unity Day Celebration that year. After a few moments of chit chat, she’d discreetly asked about the nature of she and Bellamy’s relationship. One of those “Are you sure you two are just friends?” type conversations that was obviously fueled by the barrel wine. Clarke hadn’t thought much about it at the time, people were usually pretty confused about their relationship, but it made sense now.  
   
“I think she’s into you.” Clarke says. “I shouldn’t be telling you that, but she was asking me about you at Unity Day- I think she wanted my approval or something.”  
   
He faces her again, his arms crossed, with that pinch between his eyes that usually prefaces his angry scowl. “Your approval for what?”

“For you,” she says, “for you and her.”

He doesn’t scowl, instead his mouth tilts up in something that five years ago she would have classified as a condescending smirk, now it’s more like his face of understanding. “And that makes you angry?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” she says. He raises his eyebrows and she backtracks- she had been yelling at him for the last half hour.  “I mean- no it shouldn’t. She’s great, really she’s great for you.”

She tries a smile- and Bellamy laughs. “This is the stupidest fucking conversation we’ve ever had.”

Her heart sinks a bit, because she was honestly trying to be the bigger person here- plus it’s just super fucking irritating when he laughs at her like that. “You say that all the time-“

“Clarke, nothing is going on between me and Morgan.” He says it like thinking otherwise is some kind of farfetched gossip. It’s really not though. He and Morgan make sense, just like it’s made some semblance of sense between him and others over the years.  

“You like her,” she says patiently. “You’re attracted to her-“

“And you think that’s anything compared to this?!” he gestures back and forth between them, “what is wrong with you?”

His eyes are wide, and just like that this transitions from everyday bickering that he only accuses her of “making into a big thing” to an actual, genuine, “big thing.” Maybe the biggest thing of all the big things between them. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she says defensively. “I’m just trying to be realistic. Noah is getting older, we’ve been cramped in here for eight years trying to make sense out of whatever- weird relationship we have. I just want you to be happy.” He continues to gape at her so she takes a deep breath and tries to stay composed, “I’m just saying that she seems great- it wouldn’t be the worst thing, okay?

He squints at her, that _what the fuck are you talking about_ squint he gives people when they show up at council meetings to complain about broken pottery and how latrine duty is a form of cruel and unusual punishment.

“I just- I want you to be happy,” she continues, “Wouldn’t you want the same for me?”  
   
   
“Fuck no.”

 She hadn’t even considered that he may say something other than “of course,” so she chokes on air for just a second before scrunching up her face as well. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to see you with someone else-“

She holds up her hand, because as much as she’s always been ready to be completely honest with him, hearing his innermost thoughts is usually very unsettling, especially for her. “We agreed,” she says.

He gives her a big exaggerated eye roll. “Clarke-“

“We have talked about-“

“We’re too damn old to keep doing this.”

And he’s right- part of the reason she’d even tried to be okay with he and Morgan was because he’s right. They were too old for the sort of, kind of, will they- won’t they bullshit. It wasn’t okay. It had never been okay. It wasn’t good for them, or good for Noah, and despite that she’d always been terrified of what it would mean to lose it. 

She had no idea who she was without Bellamy.

But enough was enough. There was no use in putting this off for another day- there was no good time to have this conversation. 

“What are we Bellamy?” she asks, “What are we both fighting so hard to protect here? I mean- we’re…we’re parents. We fight. Sometimes we get along. Every once in a while we-“ she glances back at the bed, “we barely even see each other during the day. Things are changing around here. They don’t need us like they used to-“

He shakes his head. “Yes they do-“

“Bellamy-“

“That doesn’t even matter. Out there doesn’t matter,” he walks towards her, “We’re talking about what goes on in this house. Your son still needs you-“

“Of course he does!” she says, “I’ve never questioned that-“

“I still need you.” 

She looks away from him, because she’s never seen anyone on Earth who reveals as much as he does with his eyes. The whole ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ thing seems like poetic nonsense, but when he says things like that- the way he looks at her gives her chills. Other people would love that feeling. It terrifies her. The only person that it’s ever come really easy for is Noah. She’d never be able to run away from him. When he looked at her- with his father’s eyes- she felt the warmth, the joy. Bellamy made her feel like she was balancing on a cliff, shaky and horrified and powerful and wonderful all at once. When he says things like that- she knows what he means, and she wishes it was easier for her to accept that. But she is who she is, and he’s known that from the beginning. Deep down she’s perfectly aware of the fact that no one will ever care for him in the way that she does, but he deserves someone who can do more than acknowledge it deep down. 

“She would be better at this,” she finally says – after about a minute of silence, “at loving you.”

He’s not really hurt. She’s seen him when he’s hurt. It’s more like a compassionate look of pity. “You really believe that?” he asks, “Clarke, you’re the mother of my child. My family-”

“You deserve more. I can’t give you more.”

“What more is there?!” he asks loudly. “We’re standing in the middle of our home. We eat together, we sleep together, we’re raising a child together. We talk when we’re upset, fuck when we feel like it, bicker when we’re pissed off and after all of it I’m still not sick of seeing your face every day. What more is there?”

“Don’t you want someone who can look at you the way you look at me? Doesn’t it frustrate you that I can’t…. that I won’t-“

“Marry me?”

Never, in the eight years since Noah was born has one of them actually said this phrase out loud to the other.

“I’ve never asked you to marry me,” he reminds her. 

There was no official license or application process or anything- not like there was on the Ark. Instead people just liked to have the ceremony, just to call themselves husband and wife. It was a spiritual thing, and a way to announce it to the community. Clarke had officiated three weddings herself. 

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t want to.”

“I don’t need to stand in a field and hand you a fucking flower to legitimize what this is. Marriage isn’t a ceremony Clarke it’s a relationship and whether you want to admit it or not you’ve been in one since before Noah was even born.”

Her eyes dart away from his.

“You’re a grown woman, a mother,” he says slowly. “Stop stubbornly clinging to this fucking martyr shit.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asks quietly. 

“Right now? Stop trying to set me up with other women.”

“That’s not what I-“

The door creaks open. Noah barely peeks his head in- enough that his messy brown hair is sticking out around it, “Mom?” he asks.

“Come in,” she says- as pleasantly as she can manage while her heart is still pounding.

He slides through the crack in the door and looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he says, “Dad told me no- but Danny said he saw a green bird and there aren’t green birds.”

“Come here,” Bellamy says as he crouches down, “Let me tell you something about Danny Yanda, that kid likes stories. You know those stories your Aunt is always telling you about monsters and gods and heroes?”

Noah nods.

“Danny likes to make up his own, and they aren’t nearly as good. Sometimes you have to let him.”

“But Dad he was-“

“You don’t always have to prove someone wrong.” 

“There are no green birds,” he repeats.

“And you and I know that- Danny probably knows that too. It’s not an excuse to go outside the wall. You know better than that. You’re eight years old now. I can’t take you on the fall hunt if I have to worry about watching you the whole time.”

Clarke wants to interrupt and remind him that her child will not be going on the fall hunt regardless, but their eyes are locked- father and son- and Noah is showing a very rare amount of focus. “You don’t have to watch me,” he says.

“Prove it.”

Instead of arguing back- which he’s taken to doing recently, Noah just nods. 

“Danny wants to stay the night,” he says, “he said his mom and dad are fighting and their house is loud. I told him it’s better here.”

Bellamy looks up at her and raises his eyebrows, the Yandas were one of the first couples to have a marriage ceremony on the ground. 

“Get your chores done by dinner and we’ll talk about it,” Clarke says- calling after him to get all the sticks out of the house as he runs towards the door. 

Bellamy just keeps looking at her with a smirk that almost makes her feel nostalgic.

“I don’t know what you think that proves.”

“It proves that we’ve got what everybody down here is looking for,” he says, “stop doubting that.”

She wants to argue back a bit, but if Danny is staying she needs to make sure the extra blanket has dried. So to save time she just kisses him like she probably should have back then.

 Noah will always be a testament of how they feel about each other.   

**...**

 

 

The first thing she hears is that there was a fire.

 "No injuries. We put it out," Nelson from The Guard tells Clarke and Abby, "it was just a couple of kids-"

And the way he leaves that sentence hanging makes Clarke stands straight up, "Which kids?" she asks.

Nelson fumbles for a second, he’s got ash on his hands. "Well- yours was there, but he didn't start it-"

Clarke ignores him, and her mother asking one million questions in the background, and grabs up her jacket, "Where is he?"

"School house,” Nelson answers- without looking her directly in the eye, because like most men between the ages of 15-30 she comes in contact with, he’s terrified of her. “Council woman-" he starts.

"Does Bellamy know?"

Bellamy’s name seems to double his terror. "I- uh - not yet."

"Good,” she says, “let me deal with this."

Nelson looks panicked, "I couldn't lie to him mam, if he asked."

"And does he frequently ask you whether you've caught his son starting fires?" she asks, "just keep your mouth shut until I can talk to him."

Nelson nods and steps out of her way.

Bellamy has a horrible habit of flying off of the handle whenever Noah is sick, injured, or even slightly inconvenienced. Clarke is usually able to swallow down her panic and let her clinical side come out. It was comforting to be able to reassure herself. When things like this happen- accidents that Noah may not even be directly involved, Bellamy’s instinct is to put the fear of God in someone. Clarke forces herself to fully assess the situation before deciding whether it’s appropriate to freak the hell out.

This time- it’s really not. Noah is sitting on his hands outside of the school house. Clarke kneels down next to him and starts examining him without so much as a hello. His hands are burn free, so is his face. The bottoms of his pants are stained black, but other than that, and the annoyed look on his face, he seems completely unaffected.

“Ma I’m fine!” he tries to shake her off, but Clarke has an iron grip on his arm. 

“What happened?” she asks- because now that she knows he’s okay she can move onto being irritated with him for being involved at all.

“There was a fire.”

“And who started that fire?"

He won’t lie to her- he can’t- but he does look down at his feet and mumble her name like maybe Clarke won’t hear it.

“Lucy Gavin.”

Clarke sighs. Lucy Gavin was another 13 year old. Her parent’s were- generally speaking- massive pains in the ass. They didn’t live together, had separated about six years ago. Their drama was the first time their community had to deal with what basically amounted to a divorce and custody battle. Lucy was quiet. She wandered off a lot. Bellamy would come home and say “We had to go looking for the Gavin girl again” and Clarke always just assumed it was curiosity- something like young Octavia chasing butterflies.

In the last year or so she’d become less fascinated with trees and wildlife. Instead she’d discovered fire. How to make a torch by sticking a big stick in the main fire, how to make it with rocks (who taught her that one was still a mystery), how quickly it would burn a book (one of very very few they had- something that a lot of people were still bitter about)  
She’d developed a bit of a reputation- the troubled girl. Her parent’s blamed the Grounders. Lucy had never encountered a Grounder other than Lincoln, and a few children who had come to visit once or twice, but still … somehow it was their fault.

“Where was it?” Clarke asks.

“By the Gardens.”

“And why were you down by the gardens?”

He didn’t answer, so Clarke sat down next to him. “I don’t want to have to tell you to stay away from Lucy Gavin,” she says.

“Dad tells me that all the time.”

Clarke nods, Bellamy has failed to see the whimsy in Lucy’s little idiosyncrasies. “What she does is dangerous.”

 “She’s lonely,” he says, “and she’s smart. She should be in lessons with us-“

Clarke agrees with him. She’d had this discussion with Lucy’s mother several times.

“Her parents want her to have a …traditional education,” she explains. Basically that meant one of them sitting her in a chair and preaching to her for as long as they could get her to sit still.

“Yeah well maybe if she learned about the plants she would know how bad a fire can be.”

“I think she was just angry Noah,” Clarke says, “sometimes when people are frustrated they act out-“

Noah turns and looks up at her with his father’s angry scowl. “And sometimes grown-ups think they understand something and they don’t. She’s not angry. She just likes fire.”

He’s in that grey area between child and teenager- his maturity is pleasantly balanced with his innocence. Clarke is going to hate it when that goes away.

“The point is,” she says- wrapping an arm around him, “she put a lot of people in danger today. Including you.”

He shook his head. “I chose to be there- I wanted to help.”

“What?”

“My class was at lunch. I saw Lucy go and I followed her. Sometimes she walks too far. I wanted to make sure she didn’t get lost.”

That was exactly what she was afraid of.

“Noah- you aren’t,” she stumbles for a moment, because she’s pretty sure she’s talking to her son about his first crush. Young Love wasn’t something she had a lot of experience in- all of hers had ended in tragedy far too traumatizing to discuss with her son. The determined look on his face also made her stomach pang with guilt. She knew that look- knew what it meant when a Blake man decided you were worth following. “You aren’t responsible for what she does or doesn’t do-“

“I know that,” he says, “ I just said that I _chose_ to follow her. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with helping people when they need it.”

She narrows her eyes at him- he’s looking back down at his shoes again.

 “Are you sure there isn’t – another reason that you followed Lucy?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well-“ she says- wishing for the first time in this conversation that Bellamy was here, “she’s pretty.”

He looks sufficiently embarrassed,  a crush is certainly plausible.“Yeah, so?”

“So do you like her?”

Noah sighs. “Wick says she’s out of my league.”

She’s a little concerned that Wick has been talking to him about girls, but she shakes it off. “Aunt Raven is out of Wick’s league,” she says- she’s been saying that for years, “so don’t listen to a word from him.”

Noah doesn’t say anything, but he does start to brush the black stains from his pants. It’s one of only two pairs that fit. She’s not sure if she’ll be able to get the stains out. She tries to get the conversation going again, something that’s getting a little harder as he grows into a teenager.

“Have you talked to your Dad about-“

“The talk?” he says “Yes Mom I know where babies come from-“

“No,” she blushes, “no, about your crush.”

Noah turns and looks at her like she’s speaking another language. “Why would I talk to him?” he asks. “It’s been like a million years and he hasn’t even gotten you.”

“Noah!” Clarke looks around to make sure no one has overheard him.

“What?”

“He- he has gotten me.” She says- unsure exactly what he means by “gotten” but totally unwilling to have this conversation with her son.

“Whatever,” Noah says with a roll of his eyes, “my point is that Dad isn’t exactly smooth.”

She thinks about Bellamy's smile. The way he comes up behind her sometimes when no one is around- and just stands there with a smirk like he knows just hearing him breath can make her nervous. She thinks about the things he says, sober and drunk, that make women grin like idiots. That fucking charm he keeps in his back pocket. She’s not sure how anyone could possibly believe that Bellamy Blake wasn’t smooth.

“Plus,” Noah says- pulling Clarke away from some very inappropriate thoughts about his father, “when he finds out she’s blonde he’ll tell me to back off.”

“Why?”

“Blonde girls are life ruiners.” He repeats- like it’s some kind of mantra Bellamy repeats all the time. Or the punchline to a joke he’s been working on for a while. “I'm sure he didn’t mean you.”

Clarke nudges him with her elbow as he gets to his feet and smiles down at her. “Can I go?” he asks.

“Go where?”

“Danny’s.’’

She rolls her eyes- she’d been hoping he’d shake that friendship as he grew up. That kid reminded her of a young John Murphy.

“Sure,” she says, “Home as soon as you see the moon. Stay away from fire!”

“Don’t tell Dad!” he yells behind him as he hurries away.

 She sits there for a while, digging her boots into the dirt, pleading with whatever is out there to listen to her.

 Please don't let her son inherit that from his father as well. Don't let him be the boy that falls in love with the girl who keeps starting fires. 

 

**...**

 

The worst day comes just a few months before Noah’s fifteenth birthday. 

In a program that Clarke had been insistent upon, their students took some time to learn about Grounder history- Lincoln and a few others came to give a talk.

Some people had chosen to exclude their children from this. Clarke had been complaining about them every day since they started bitching, and Bellamy hadn’t had the heart to tell her that his instinct was to exclude Noah as well.

Not because he thought Grounders were dangerous or that there wasn’t any value in learning about their culture- it was because he wanted to avoid this.

Noah tracking him down at Raven’s, white faced and nervous. Not really responding to Raven’s jokes or his questions about how his day was. He had a gut feeling that this was it from the second he saw him- but the worst part about it was that Clarke wasn’t even there. She was out with Monty – training some new people on finding and procuring medicinal plants. She didn’t have to go- she only did because she’s a control freak. Now he’s stuck dealing with the apocalypse all on his own.

Eventually, Raven must start to realize what’s about to happen. She closes the door to the lab and leans against one of her work tables, just out of sight .

Bellamy watches his son avoid his eyes and feels his fingers start to shake. “What’s wrong Noah?” he asks- trying to be strong, trying to treat this like just another battle.

Noah fiddles with the bottom of his shirt for a minute, and then he looks up, “You and Mom said that one day you’d tell me everything,” he says, “you said you’d tell me about the Mountain and the wars-“

“We will-“

“But you made it seem like it was just something that you lived through. Dad- they were talking about you, you and Mom."

“Your Mom and I were leaders- you know that.”

“I didn’t know that, I didn’t know what that meant and every time I asked you said I was too young!”

“Noah,” Raven interrupts, “it was a different time. It was terrifying. You’re parents don’t want you to-“

“What do you think it feels like when other kids start asking questions about your parents?! Like they’re just characters in a story?!” He’s angry now- and Bellamy has forgotten everything he’d ever prepared for this moment.

“We should have told you,” he concedes, “we were going to tell you. I’m not trying to hide anything from you. I’ll answer any questions you have-“

“You tried to kill Chancellor Jaha?” he asks almost immediately.

He hears Raven mumble a “fuck,” and takes a deep breath. “You remember what I told you about your Aunt- and where she and your Mom were, about the 100?”

“You said you snuck onto the Drop Ship to be with Aunt Octavia, you didn’t tell me that you tried to kill someone first-“

“I was manipulated,” Bellamy says- for the first time out-loud, “it’s easy to be manipulated when you’re afraid, and Noah I was always afraid. I wanted to protect your Aunt, and then I wanted to protect our people, and your mother. I did a lot of horrible things. If you want me to tell you I will,” he tries to keep his voice from sounding shaky,  “but I was young and we were just trying to survive.”

His anger has dulled at least, but he doesn’t look any less disappointed, and that’s the worst expression you can possibly see on your child’s face.

“So,” he asks, with a nervous look in Raven’s direction, “you’ve- killed people?” 

Bellamy tries to keep a steady face. "Yes."

Noah nods, maybe deep down he always knew that. He knew what war was. "But just- the bad ones, the men from the Mountain?"

He shakes his head, "No- no not just them."

He gets frustrated again, a panicked sort of frustrated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that your mother and I had to make a tough decision," he says, "and a lot of people died."

"People?" Noah asks- and Bellamy can hear what he’s really asking.

_Clarke, there’s kids in here._

"The people who lived there."

"All of them?"

_Together._

"Yes."

"And the Grounders?" Noah asks angrily.

"The-"

"Because when we talked about the monument today- the one their building in Ton DC, a girl said it was Mom's fault-"

The missile.

"Noah-"

"And people told her to shut up, but no one argued with her.” He took a step back. “Why does everyone seem to know more about my own parents than I do?"

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut. "Because there's never a good time to tell those kinds of stories."

There’s a moment of silence. Raven open and closes her mouth, but there’s nothing she can say to make this any better and she knows it. The worst part is knowing that it’s not over. This isn’t the real conversation- the one they owe him. This is just the beginning.

"How many people?" Noah demands.

It’s the worst case-scenario question. The one he couldn’t possibly have an answer for. He wasn’t even sure where exactly to draw the line on what was and wasn’t his fault. "Noah- I can't. I don't know."

"You don't know?” he yells, “Of course you know! How could you not know-"

"Because we were at war." Bellamy says back- louder and more defensive that he planned.

Suddenly something seems to click behind Noah’s eyes. He must realize exactly what his father is telling him. Not, “I don’t know because I don’t want to admit it,” but “I don’t know but because there was too much- too much, and too many.”

“And Mom?” he asks, “Mom too?”

He looks away from him when he nods.

"I need to take a walk,” Noah says. His voice, which seems to be growing deeper every day, sounds more child-like than it has in years. It’s a horrible heartbreaking fucking sound.

"Go see Wick," Raven says when Bellamy can’t even turn his head back towards his son- "he's still building that battery." 

Noah leaves before Raven even finishes her sentence. Slamming the door behind him so hard that it shakes the room.

After she fixes a few of the things that had fallen over she turns to him, a man she had once found morally repugnant, and lays a hand on his shoulder. “You knew this would happen one day,” she says, “you knew he’d take it like this- at least until he hears the whole story.”

Bellamy stares up at the bright lighting above them- it makes his eyes water. “The whole story isn’t going to make him feel any better.”

Raven takes her hand away, “Look- I understand…”

 "No you don't understand!” he says, as he straightens up and glares at her, “because there's only one fucking person on this planet that could even start to understand what that felt like- and she's off picking fucking flowers."

It was stupid to turn on Clarke at a time like this, but he needed to be angry at someone other than himself for just a few seconds.

"She'll be home tomorrow," Raven reassures him, "and I'll- I'll stop her at the gate and tell her."

"No," he wipes at his eyes, "don't- this is ours."

He grabs the small battery he’d brought her to look at and shoves it in his pocket. He doesn’t know where he’ll go. Noah needs time. If he’s at the house he needs to be there alone. If he’s walking along the wall he needs to do it alone. Camp feels smaller now than it ever has.

"Bellamy-" Raven starts

"This is what it is," he says, "when you all joke about how much of a miracle it is that Clarke and I haven't killed each other- this is it, because if she was gone-"

He can’t even finish the sentence. It’s incomprehensible, because he already feels like something different than everyone else- at least he was the same as Clarke. Being on his own- being without her -it's a kind of loneliness that feels terminal.

"You gotta calm down,” Raven says, “when you see him, you have to be calm. Clarke too”

"The only time I ever heard her doubt him," he nods towards the door, "was when she realized that one day she'd have to tell him what happened that first year. She’s going to be devastated."

Raven nods. She knows Clarke as well as he does. She knows that she’s been waiting for this day like waiting for a nuclear bomb to drop. "You should tell him," she finally says, “before she gets back.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer her so she steps closer.

“Tell him the story,” she says “tell him what happened."

He shakes his head. "We agreed that we'd tell him together."

"Bellamy," Raven says, "you and I both know that if she tells it, she'll come off like a monster. She can't help it. It's the way she sees things- even when she tries to be practical about it. If you tell it, you can tell him what it was truly like- what she was really like. She was a hero."

He’d thought about this before, but it had always felt like betrayal- like he was assuming she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Strength wasn’t even the issue- it was the way the guilt manifested in her. She’d be honest, and factual, and tell Noah exactly what happened. She’d leave him to fill in the blanks between the travesties because all she can really focus on back then is the wrong, the things she questions. The logic makes her feel better, but it doesn’t make her look better. She’d tell him she let the missile hit Ton DC because stopping it would have put their efforts against the Mountain at risk. She wouldn’t explain that Lexa was in her ear, and he was in the Mountain, and she was making life-changing decisions for hundreds of people when she was barely old enough to make life-changing decisions for herself. She saw the cold- the harsh reason of a leader. Bellamy saw the mercy. He always had.

"She'd never forgive me-" he says because Raven is still looking at him like she’d solved all of his problems.

"I'm not sure there's anything you could do that she wouldn't forgive you for." Raven says with a slight roll of her eyes. "She loves you. She loves both of you so much, and I know she doesn't always say it but- actions speak louder than words- that's always sort of been your thing.”

She’s right. It has.

“Tell your son how you feel about her- _that_ her- the one from the Dropship."

She doesn’t need to convince him any further- because suddenly his son understanding who his mother is is more important than him thinking his father is a monster. Raven keeps talking anyway- bringing up things she’s never felt comfortable bringing up before- Finn.

Bellamy just listens to her, nodding his head when she looks to him for a response. When finally she’s talked through everything she wanted him to recount to Noah, she folds her arms in front of her and apologizes. What they’re going through is one of the biggest reasons she doesn’t want to have kids of her own.

"You know how some people believe that when you die- you have to face God, answer to all your sins?" he says, drunk on dread, "That's what this is. We had him for fifteen years-"

"You're not going to lose him."

"He'll never look at us the same."

Raven shrugs, "That's a part of growing up Bellamy.”

Noah is growing up, and that means realizing his parents aren’t exactly the heroes he thought they were.

With a squeeze to Raven’s shoulder in thanks, Bellamy finally leaves the room- walking out into a completely new world, just like Dropday.  
   
 

**...**  
   
 Bellamy knows when people are hiding something from him.

They take steps away from him as he walks by, stare up at the sky, pretend they don’t hear him call out.

Usually those things they’re hiding have something to do with someone he cares about doing something fucking stupid.

Octavia got kicked from a wildhorse but they’re pretty sure her neck isn’t broken, Clarke got in the way during training , but they pulled the arrow right out, Noah is committing arson with the camp psycho but don’t worry the only thing that burned was Monty’s potato plants.

What they don’t realize is that it makes him angrier when people run circles around him to try to avoid making him angry. So when he spots Miller turning in his tracks to avoid him, he speeds up to grab the man by the shoulder.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing.”

“Miller-“

“Nothing!”

“Look me in the eye.”

He does, grudgingly so, “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me whatever it is that someone told you not to tell me” he demands.

Miller shakes his head, “It’s not even that big of a deal,” he says.

There it is- the magic phrase that answers all his questions. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My sister,” he says, “that’s her calling card, don’t tell my bother because it’s not even that big of a deal.”

Miller groans, “Okay- you know what? I’m not getting in the middle of a Blake battle, not after last time.”

“You stabbed me in the back last time,” Bellamy says.

“You are such a drama queen,” he says, “that’s like a thing with you isn’t it? You’re never going to grow out of it.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in medical- she’s fine!” he says, when Bellamy’s eyes get wide, “everyone is fine.”

“Everyone?”

He sighs again, “Just go.”

In Medical, more people avoid his eyes. He doesn’t see Octavia, but he does see his son- sitting on one of the examination tables having a nice chat with his grandmother, wearing a sling.

Before he can charge forward a hand presses against his chest, one he reflexively wraps his fingers around. “I was just coming to find you,” she says.

“What happened?”

“He’s alright.”

“What. Happened.”

 “Bellamy, listen to me,” she says, “don’t freak out. His arm is broken.”

Broken is such a terrible word- and it described that pain perfectly. He’d experienced that before, a few fingers, his right foot. It was miserable and sometimes that part of your body was never the same.

“How?”

Clarke sighs, and removes the hand on his chest to brush some hair from her face. “He was sparring-“

“Sparring?!” he repeats.

“With Octavia.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apparently they’ve been doing some training for-“

He holds his hand up. He knows exactly how long they’ve been doing it, since she came and asked him and he told her no. He didn’t want that for his son. He didn’t want him to ever feel like he belonged on the front lines of whatever horrible battle was constantly looming just over the horizon.

“It’s not a bad break,” Clarke says, “really- he was lucky.”

Bellamy can tell she’s a little irritated, but she knew that if Octavia was at fault than it was best for him to deal with it.

“Where is she?” he asks.

Clarke shakes her head, “Don’t worry about her- go talk to him-“

“No. First I need to know what the fuck happened-“

“I just told you-“

“Clarke!”

She winces when he raises his voice- loud enough that Abby and Noah look over at them. His hair is the same length Bellamy’s was when they hit the ground, just as messy. He always has a look in his eye- like he feels responsible for everything happening around him. People have been beating that fucking superhero joke into his head for years- he’s grown up thinking that’s actually what’s expected of him. It’s bullshit, and out of everyone he expected Octavia to understand that.

So he storms from medical, in the direction that Clarke pointed, and finds his sister leaning against the back wall, smoking that ridiculous herbal tobacco that she’s started smoking because it “helps with stress.”

“Put that fucking thing out,” he says as he approaches her.

She doesn’t argue with him this time- she knows she can’t. She’s done the unthinkable, put his son in danger.

"I don't even know which one of you I'm more pissed at,” he says honestly.

He can tell she feels guilty, but she’s still not willing to just stand there and be yelled at. "It's just a broken arm-“ she says.

That sets him off.

"No Octavia it's my son's broken arm!" he yells.

"He's a grown man-" she says.

"He's sixteen fucking years old-"

"And if I don't teach him to spar no one will!"

"He doesn't need to know-"

"Of course he fucking does!” she pushes off of the wall and stands toe to toe with him, “He's a goddamn leader- already and if you think he's not going to get involved in whatever is coming you're fucking lying to yourself! You can't control people just because you're afraid of losing them-"

"Actually I can-“ he says, “I can when it's my child."

There are tears in her eyes- but its difficult to tell whether they’re from anger or something else. "I would never- _ever_ do anything to hurt that kid. I love him more than anything-"

"Then how did this happen?"

"Because this is life Bellamy! He was doing everything he should have been doing, he was wearing armor, he was going at half speed, he landed wrong."

“He wasn’t supposed to be fucking sparing in the first place!” he yells, “I made that pretty fucking clear to you.”

"You think you can keep him away from that- from guns and violence- but you're forgetting whose child he is-“ she yells back, “when that shit comes knocking at your walls, which is always does and always will, he's not going to turn his back on it, and if he isn't trained then he's going to die!"

“You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be a parent so don’t get in my face and-“

“Bellamy!”

Clarke is standing behind him- looking at him like he’d just said the most horrible thing he possibly could. In a way he had- Octavia had been trying to get pregnant for ten years, she was finally starting to accept the fact that it probably wasn't in the cards for her. He feels the regret bubble up like vomit, and turns to apologize to his shocked sister.

“O, I-“

“No. Forget it," she says, “if we keep talking we’re just going to fight. I’ll be by to see him before I leave tomorrow.” She grabs her pack from the ground and slings it over her shoulder, “Sorry.” She says.

Bellamy watches her walk away until she’s out of sight. He keeps telling himself that he’s going to yell out and stop her. He doesn’t – because he’s still angry and he’s never been good at shaking anger.

Neither has the mother of his child.

“You are a fucking moron,” she says.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Oh what are you going to attack me now too?”

“Clarke, I’m serious. I’m not in the mood!”'

“None of us are in the mood! This happened to all of us- primarily Noah. He’s the one that’s actually hurt Bellamy. Your son! And he's more upset about the way your acting than the fucking crack in his arm! Grow the fuck up and go in there."

She storms away before he can argue with her- it’s her favorite tactic. It not only ensures that she gets the last word- it makes him feel like a total idiot. Which he does, because he was so fucking worried about his kid that he let anger distract him- now he’s going to have to spend the rest of the day handing out apologies.

Starting with Noah.

He’s still sitting on the table when Bellamy walks in – a kid less than half his age that seems braver and more composed than he’s ever been.

He looks up and nods- even smiles a little. The sling around his arm looks uncomfortable, but it’s better than the 200 fucking pound casts they’ve had to put on people to set serious breaks.

“I’m sorry kid,” he says as he sits down on the metal stool Abby had been using.

“No you’re not,” he says, “you’re pissed.”

Bellamy nods, “I’m sorry too.”

Noah matches his nod. "Why are you pissed exactly?"

"Because you're hurt."

"Okay- so you're mad at me?"

"No."

"At Aunt O?"

He hesitates for a moment. "No."

"Then I don't-"

“I'm pissed because I wish you lived in a world where you didn't need to know this shit,” He sits up straighter, “but you don't and I can't change that."

“I’m sorry I did this behind your back,” he says, “I get it. I really do- but not training me is so fucking illogical-“

“Watch your mouth.”

“When Aunt O was my age- she was training to be a Grounder warrior-“

“Not by my choice.”

“Fine,” he says, “but if she hadn’t- what would have happened to her?”

She would have died. It was as simple as that, everything Octavia had become during that first year kept her alive. The ones who didn’t have her training floundered around and had to wait to be rescued. He didn’t want his son to be a hero- but he didn’t want him to have to wait around for one either.

“Here’s the deal,” he says, “if you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right. That means listening to me and being patient- not taking off into the woods with Aunt O every time you get bored.”

Noah looks surprised that he’s caved so easily, but he nods quickly, “Okay, I can do that.”

“And we don’t start until that’s healed completely.”

"Doesn't hurt that much anymore,” he says.

“I don’t care if it feels better than it ever has- you’re not doing anything until your mother and grandmother can agree that it’s completely healed.”

He rolls his eyes, but his silence means that he agrees.

“How much longer do you have to stay here?” he asks.

Noah sighs, “Till Gram gets back- probably another hour,” he looks up, “you have to go back to work?”

Bellamy is staring- trying not to picture him in a cadet’s uniform or grounder war paint.

“Dad?” Noah asks.

“No,” he says, “no I can stay here.” He rubs a hand across his forehead- warding off a headache. “Unless your mother kicks me out.”

Clarke hadn’t reappeared yet- she was probably off seething somewhere.

“She called me and Aunt O fucking idiots too,” he says, “if it makes you feel any better.”

Bellamy smiles, “You really have to stop saying Fuck.”

Noah just laughs and leans back, “feel like I’ve been saying it my whole life.”

 

**...**

 

The house is shaking when he gets home.

He’s confused by the noise- by Noah’s voice in particular- not just because it’s angrier than he’s ever heard, but because he’d been living with a few of his friends since his 20th birthday, and in those two years he’d never just popped over without giving them notice.

The door is hanging half open- Noah’s booming voice echoing into the twilight.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" he yells.

Bellamy speeds up his steps, getting through the door just in time to see Clarke angrily tie her hair up into a ponytail, the way she does when she’s preparing for a massive argument.

“I’m your mother,” she says, “and more importantly I’m your Councilwoman. Both roles deserve a lot more respect than you’re giving me right now.”

Neither of them have noticed his entrance.

“Respect?” Noah repeats. He’s wearing his nice shirt- it’s that little detail that reminds Bellamy that tonight was his big council meeting. “You’re treating me like a child. I am twenty two fucking years old!”

“Alright,” Bellamy interrupts, because he’s never liked the idea of Noah cussing at Clarke, “What is going on?” 

Of course they both pretend like he’s not even there.

“You’re acting like a child!” Clarke says, “a child can’t take criticism, a child rushes into things that they aren’t prepared for-“

“RUSH?!” Noah yells, stalking forward and bumping into the table as he goes. “I have been working my ass off on this for months and you KNOW IT!”

“Noah!" Bellamy says- stepping between them when his son gets too close to Clarke, "back off,” he says.

Noah looks betrayed. “She can’t blindside me like this!”

“What are you talking about?” Bellamy asks.

It’s Clarke that answers- calmly, like she has no remorse at all. “I’m taking his education reform proposition off of the agenda for the meeting tonight.”

“You’re what?” Bellamy demands, turning to look down at her.

“It’s not ready,” she says, she’d said the same thing to him last night, but he’d told her to keep her mouth shut and mind her business, advice that she had obviously not taken.

“Clarke-“he warns

“It’s not-“she starts to repeat, but Noah cuts her off.

“That’s not for you to decide!” he yells

"It's a mistake-“ Clarke insists, “You don’t realize it now because you haven't been-"

Noah’s face starts turning even more red, So Bellamy turns completely around and blocks Clarke from his view.

"Do you not realize how much fucking worse you're making this?!" he hisses at her.

“If he comes here screaming at me because I took it off the agenda, how do you think he’ll react when it doesn’t pass because he doesn’t have the votes!” she explains- while Noah makes noises of disagreement and frustration behind Bellamy’s back, “Miller is sick again. He doesn’t have the votes.”

“You don’t know that!” Noah argues.

“I do!” Clarke says, “Because I’ve been working with these people for years.”

“Mom that’s ridiculous,” he says, “why would anyone vote against-“

“Because sometimes people don’t give a fuck about what’s right and what’s wrong!” she yells over Bellamy’s shoulder.

Noah wants to create an education program that integrates all children in camp –despite where in camp they live. That on it’s own raises quite a few eyebrows, because until now people have had the option to educate their children in “private groups” causing a lot of distance and a lot of children who know nothing about the earth or the grounders because their parents don’t see value in that. Noah wants to outlaw those “private groups” and give children the opportunity to learn together: about their history, the ark’s history, and the grounder’s history.

Half of the council found the idea pandering and counter-productive, but Clarke knew Noah cared about it, so she’d dedicated her all of her time the last three months to making sure it passed through.

Noah didn’t exactly understand that. He knew the work he put into it, and he was pissed because she went behind his back- but Bellamy was pretty sure he didn’t realize how many additional meetings she’d taken to try and sell the program.

They stood on either side of Bellamy- both caring about the same thing, angry because the other wasn’t willing to understand. All Bellamy can think of is Noah’s first year, when Clarke took time off from  Council meetings and excursions to the Grounder’s villages, and he’d leave them every morning because at that time both of them couldn’t be out of action at the same time. Almost everyday he’d come back to find them both sprawled across the bed, Clarke’s hand clasped in his little fingers , or his head resting on her chest.  
The notes and plans he’d be sure she’d slave over were always laying in a pile on the table. Clarke chose to surround them instead with her drawings- flowers and animals and him.  
She loved Noah more than anything, so he looks at her and sees a power hungry Councilwoman without realizing that everything she’s doing, she’s doing it for him.

“Noah sit down,” Bellamy says.

“Don’t take her side.” Noah practically pleads.

“There are no sides!” Bellamy says, “We all want the same thing.”

“She wants to be in control of everything!” Noah yells.

“Sit down now.” Bellamy insists.

He does, throwing himself noisily into a chair the way he did when he was a pissed off fifteen year old.

Clarke stands awkwardly behind him, half way between anger and regret. They know that area well- they’ve both spent a lot of time there.

“Noah,” Bellamy says, “how many members of council have promised you their vote?”

“Six,” he says instantly.

“Six counting Miller?”

“Yeah- but I haven’t spoken to Mr. Austin or-“

“Don’t count on them,” Bellamy says, “even I can tell you that. They think they’re better than all of this. If they could survive on their own, they’d be building a mansion somewhere as we speak.”

Noah sighs, “You can’t just assume-“

“It’s not an assumption,” Clarke clarifies, “it’s from experience. They’ve been shooting down my propositions for years."

“Grandma gets the final-“

“She will never go against Council,” Clarke says, “she’s not that kind of Chancellor.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Noah demands, “just wait around until enough people that like you will-“

“You wait two weeks, and then you present it exactly as you planned," Clarke says. “The only difference is that you’ll know you have one more supporter.”

He’s calmed down, but he’s still pretty twitchy.

“Your mother spent a lot of time on this too Noah,” Bellamy says.

Noah scoffs.

“I’m serious, she’s been taking meetings for weeks.”

Noah looks up at her, “I appreciate that,” he says- though he still doesn’t sound very appreciative, “but this is my thing so-“

“Nothing is yours,” Clarke says, “everything is ours- everything is done for everyone.”

“I know that,” Noah says, “don’t twist my words.”

“Then stop acting like your personal pride is more important than actually getting the proposal passed,” she says.

That makes him think. Bellamy can see it- he recognizes that look, when Clarke Griffin’s words hit you like a giant stone right to the gut. Noah had good intentions – he always did- but was also easily distracted by trying to prove that he was an adult now.

Clarke takes advantage of his silence to sit down across from him, “I was never trying to – step on your toes,” she says, “I want this to work.”

“I know that,” he mumbles.

“Then why are you so angry?”

“Because nothing is happening and it’s frustrating!” he says. “I just- I want to do what you did.”

There it is. The other conversation they’d been dreading. The _I need to be what you were conversation_.

Bellamy is about to tell him to get that idea out of his head asap, but Clarke reaches across the table and grabs his hands. Their fingers intertwine- hers a little smaller than his now.

“Noah,” Clarke says, “you’re doing so much more than I ever did.”

He shakes his head. “Mom that’s-“

“I had to destroy a lot of things to get where we needed to be, you’re just taking something that works and making it better. You’re doing what I never had the courage to do. I just wanted us to survive , I didn’t worry about the needs of each individual person. I want this to work out for you. I need you to trust me.”

“Two weeks?” Noah says.

She nods. “As soon as Councilman Miller is better.”

“I’m not sorry for being pissed,” he says, “because you should have talked to me first.”

Clarke nods, “You’re right.”

“But I’m sorry that I got that angry. Believe it or not that wasn’t my intention when I came here. I just wanted to talk to you-“

“I understand,” she says, “you’re welcome to attend tonight’s meeting anyway.”

“No,” he says, “it’ll just piss me off again.”

He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, “I should go for a run or something.”

Clarke squeezes his hand one more time and nods.

“I love you,” she says.

He almost smiles, “Love you too, both of you.”

Bellamy tells him he loves him too at the door- but before he leaves he puts his hand on his shoulder and leans in so Clarke can’t hear him.

“Hey,” he whispers, “don’t ever let me catch you screaming at your mother like that again.”

“Dad-“

“Do you understand?”

His head hangs a little. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he grabs the back of his head like he did when he was little, “see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

It was strangely loud before, it’s unnaturally quiet now. Clarke is still sitting at the table pretending to sip on some tea.

“You say he’s mine,” Bellamy says with an almost laugh, “fuck that- that kid is you. To a fucking-T”

“He certainly gets his mouth from you,” she says.

He walks over to her and reaches out a hand to pull her to her feet. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Bellamy says, “You can’t hold his hand forever.”

“The hypocrisy.”

“I didn’t follow him to the village last week,” he says, “it killed me, but I let him do it on his own.”

She wraps her arms around him and lays her head on his chest. They’d kept their living arrangement after Noah moved out- for convenience’s sake. She’s becoming more affectionate in her old age. “He really is grown up,” she says.

“He’s been grown up.”

“Not like this.”

And he knew what she meant. It was small stuff now, but you could see it when you looked at him. Somehow, their kid was going to save the world.  

 

**...**

 

It’s not his proudest day.

A 28 year old man, a leader, a teacher, a valued member of their community running back to his childhood home to get advice from his mother. He intended to stick to business- to ask her what she thought about the protests and the new trade agreements, but when he spots his father outside- splitting a pile of wood with the same old ax that has always given him splinters – his entire battle plan disappears from his head.

Instead of talking about the frustration of the people and the gridlock in council, he finds himself sitting on a stump, arms crossed, fists clinched, explaining to his father why Willow James is the most irritating human being in existence. 

“She’s telling everyone that I have a “skewed” understanding of the Grounder’s culture,” Noah says- his rant in harmony with the sounds of the swinging ax. “She only lived with her mother until she was six- for the last fifteen years she’s been in this camp- just like me.”

Bellamy pauses a moment to wipe sweat from his eyes. “Why does it matter Noah?” he asks.

“Why does it matter?!” he uncrosses his arms and stands up straighter “Dad, she’s trying to get me off of the front lines. She doesn’t want me going into negotiations because she says I’m trigger happy-“

Bellamy raises his eyebrows- Noah knows how to shoot, but he rarely carries a weapon on him, and when he does it’s a wood-handled dagger that Lincoln gave him as a 21st birthday present.

“Not literally,” Noah explains, “she’s a very metaphorical person. It’s counter-productive as hell.”

“Well,” Bellamy says, “Is she right?”

“Of course she’s not right. I know what I’m doing, I’m just not going into negotiations like they’re doing me some big favor. We’ve kept up our side of the treaty without incident for years- every time they have a shift in leadership everything goes to shit. It has to stop.”

“You sound trigger happy.” Bellamy says- agreeing with the red headed girl he’d only really glimpsed a few times.

“I’m practical,” Noah repeats, “I’ve maintained peaceful negotiations for the last three weeks, but there needs to be changes- there needs to be a more intimate conversation between our leadership and theirs. James thinks that they’ll interpret that as an attempt at dominance- but I’m sick and tired of her way. Her way hasn’t gotten anything done. She needs me – she can talk circles around them all she wants, but they know in the end that if they try to fuck with this treaty they have to answer to me. I am so sick and tired of fighting battles with her- over everything. She gives me this look- like I’ve just spit right in her face and-“

“Noah,” Bellamy says- interrupting his son with a wave of his hand. “Listen to her.”

It takes him a moment to register what he’s just said. His father who as recently as the previous Tuesday, engages in four to six hour arguments with his mother over everything from where to stack the firewood to the correct pronunciation of some of the more creatively named babies in camp. Noah has always been sheltered from his parent’s bickering – but he’s seen enough to know how stubborn both of them are, that they really don’t just _listen_ to anyone. “Why?!” he demands.

Bellamy smirks. “Because odds are she’s right and you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.“ Noah says.

“She makes you question your instincts right?” Bellamy asks, “Makes you stop and think everything through three or four times before you do anything?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need his war with Willow James romanticized.

“Isn’t she the reason you created the subcommittee for the Earthborns?” Bellamy continues, “You two have been doing that together for years. She’s been working by your side for years.”

“Because she won’t fucking go away.” Noah says- he doesn’t mean it , and the more dramatic he is, the more he realizes that he really doesn’t mean it. Willow makes him feel like an idiot because somehow she always sees the things he misses – there’s always something he’s done wrong, something he’s overlooked, something he’s overreacted to or misunderstood and she was always there to correct him. Like a pompous conscience kicking his pride right in the gut. 

“You and I both know what she is to you,” Bellamy says, “because you can tell me you left the hunting party last summer because you ate some bad berries but everyone in this camp knows it’s because you heard about her horse – what was it’s name petal or precious-“

“Posy,” Noah says with an angry scowl. “I had food poisoning. It had nothing to do with that-“

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you,” Bellamy says, “Just listen to her. You’re not going to be a hero on your own kid.”

He turns like the matter is closed, but somehow Noah looks more offended. It’s not like he’s the first person to call out his…attachment to Willow. She’d made herself into an important figure – a vital member of the community. He gave his everything to this camp, to these people, of course he would do everything in his power to keep them from losing her. But that didn’t mean that he needed her- because he had things to focus on that superseded some uptight girl with a bird’s nest hair and giant eyes. She was a child- a child that was preventing him from protecting the fragile truce with the Grounders. At a certain point it didn’t matter how he felt about her. She was a problem.

“My grandmother was the Chancellor, “ he says, “my mother was on Council for over ten years, my father is Commander of the guard and My Aunt and Uncle are ambassadors to the Grounders- who the hell is she?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at him, “The way it sounds right now she’s much more capable of making fair and balanced decisions than you are.”

He hears his words again- arrogant, like they usually are when he loses his temper. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it Noah?” Bellamy asks, “You’re whole platform about equality- do you even believe that?”

It sounds so much like his argument with Willow that morning that he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Of course!”

“So what makes you think you’re any better than her?”

“I’m not better than her!” he says- yells really- “Of course I’m not! She’s a fucking fairy princess! She doesn’t even experience anger – or jealousy – or, anything else that makes a person human! She’s better than me, she’s kinder than me, and you know what? Maybe she’s smarter than me but Dad- she’s not ready to make the tough decisions. She can’t- she won’t be able to and if she did-“ he shakes his head, “I don’t want her to have to.”

Bellamy nods, he’s good at filling in the blanks Noah leaves. “So you don’t want her to go to negotiations?”

Noah lets out a sigh- the anger slowly fading, rising off of him like steam, “I don’t want her to have to do something she’s not prepared to do,” he says. “So no, I don’t want her to go. I want her to leave it up to me-“

“But your prepared?” Bellamy asks- not as the Commander of the Guard. This is not that kind of conversation

“There’s nothing I won’t do for us,” Noah says, “it’s built into me- like a fucking disease. It’ll be instinct, and I’ll be able to sleep afterwards."

"So you're worried about her not having a clear conscience?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Why? Because he's an idiot- and aside from being the most irritating human being on Earth- Willow James was his _maybe one day._

“If there’s chance that you’re right,” Noah says, “and I did come back because of that stupid fucking horse, and she is- it – or whatever,” he’s blushing but he pushes through, “I’m not going to let some terrible situation we were both forced into prevent us from ever being happy. Even if we don’t – if it ends up not being like that. I don’t want to lose that chance now, before it’s all clear. Like some kind of permanent fucking storm cloud hanging over us forever.”

“You can still love someone,” Bellamy says, “even if there’s a storm cloud hanging around.”

Noah realizes then that he may have offended his father, who had loved, lost, found, gone to war, and raised a child with a woman who has probably always been his _maybe one day._

“Dad I didn’t mean-“

“No I know what you meant.” Bellamy says- tossing his axe to the ground and grabbing the shirt he’d laid on the ground. “But you’d better get really comfortable with the idea of storm clouds kid- if you two are going to be the people that you are.”

“I know.”

“If you’re thinking about falling in love with her, or if you already are,” Noah pales at the word love- and Bellamy looks fairly uncomfortable as well, “this, the being afraid, it’s all a part of it. Listen to her. Let her be your partner, don’t try to hold her back, all that does is make you look like an ass.”

“Dad-“

“And no matter what happens to you, or her, or both of you, nothing gets to ruin your life. All you need are people that understand you and if she does, you’d better not let any fucking storm clouds ruin that.”

“You know- the storm cloud thing- that was also a metaphor.”

“Noah I’m serious,” he says, “cut this shit out before it’s too late.”

“What shit?"

“Have a life kid, " Bellamy says as he pulls his shirt on, grinning like he'd just had some great epiphany. "Have a life outside of council meetings and treaties and the things your mother and I suffered through so you wouldn’t have too.”

“I like who I am-“

“I couldn’t be more proud of who you are,” Bellamy says with a hand on his son’s shoulder. “All I’m trying to say is,” he takes a deep breath, “don’t be her- don’t be me- don’t do what we did. Don’t let this shit stick around haunting you for years after it’s over. Don’t be cynical, don’t push her off as a maybe, don’t push yourself off as a maybe.”

He pats him on the shoulder one more time and starts to walk away- Noah , who feels a bit like his father had somehow hypnotized him to direct the conversation the way it had gone, looks around in confusion. The ax is on the ground, wood half-split. 

"Where are you going?" he asks, as his father starts to walk away from him.

"I'm gonna go stand in a field and hand your mother a fucking flower."


End file.
